Oc X Reader - Blog Posts

Daisy's are frequently associated with purity, childbirth, new beginnings, and cheerfulness. Daisy petals symbolize innocence and are commonly associated with childhood memories of collecting wildflower bouquets.

Pairing: Marcus Perez (oc) x AFAB! reader

(general) Warning: age gap (he's 50, reader is in mid/late twenties), virgin reader, inexperienced reader, daddy issues™, marcus is a dilf, daddy kink, angst, lots of food/baking, size difference, reader is not overly described but is implied to be skinny & small breasted, able bodied reader, hair length is not defined but will be mentioned, reader is feminine and AFAB but gender is undefined, Marcus drinks and smokes, eventual smut, slow burn-ish, series fic

Authors note: as always do not trust old men who wanna get in your pants! Keep sex safe and always consensual. This is purely fictional and just an expression of sexual fantasy. This chapter is just the beginning so it'll just be establishing the setting and what's going on.

I hope y'all enjoy! Idk when I'll be posting updates as this kinda me trying to grit through writer's block so I'm sorry if chapters are not consistent! Kinda just shouting into the void with this if I'm being honest 🙈 comments, reblogs and likes will always be appreciated!

Moodboard |Part 1 |

For years, Marcus lived in an empty nest, a single man trapped in an unchanging routine. Marcus quits his small-town life and heads to the city, but it's certainly no glamorous ride. Movies painted an enticing picture of freedom—packing up one's life and leaving behind the shackles of monotony, as if shaking off cobwebs layered over dusty memories. Yet, for Marcus, the reality felt more like swallowing cotton balls, each memory sheathed in layers of bubble wrap and tape, heavy boxes straining his weary back as he huffed and grunted. His work buddies rallied around him, lending their arms to help load the cramped pickup truck, but the weight of the moment lingered in his chest.

Though everyone urged him to seize this fresh start, he couldn't abandon that itch to remain in his cycle. He was set in his ways, hesitant to dip his boot-clad feet into new waters, yearning for a life with a touch of difference without completely overhauling the comfort of his past. A constant contradiction of wanting more but unable to muster the greed to take it with unyielding hands. After much contemplation, he settled into a modest apartment above a bakery, cheesily named "Whisk Me Away." Nestled not too far from the city's sprawling park, a purposeful spot he sought out. Marcneededing to venture beyond the habit of staying indoors—something he had lately become all too familiar with. Tucking himself in his solitude, waiting at the phone or rotting his mind with uninteresting TV. Exhausted from work and devoid of friends outside his occasional drink, he dreaded the thought of spending yet another night in the stench of stale beer and listening to another pointless argument or the screams of grown adults outraged by the favorite team losing.

Despite the insistence of his friends that this was his chance to step into retirement, he found it laughable. He never planned to retire. He couldn't. What would he do with himself? After a week of steady toil with boxes, however, he marched into a part-time handyman role for the bakery’s owner. They struck up a friendship, the connection based on the similarities of two middle-aged men sharing dry laughter and nostril-stuffed grunts about sports games that Marcus had little interest in. Or a comment here and there about the youth of today.

Yet, amidst the bustling streets and the chaos of the city, what truly captured his attention wasn’t the sprawling skyline or the rigorous life around him; it was something sweeter, far more delicate. As if biting into a tender sponge of a cupcake. Icing much too sweet for his aged pallet but the rush reminded him of his youth. How he ached to drag his tongue along the creamy sugar that coated this pretty treat. Curling his tongue until he lapped every last bit and got to the true flavor beneath. Untainted and heavenly.

A temptation that should have never crossed his mind at his age. He often scoffed at the very idea of a fling with someone so much younger, dismissing the notion with fierce disapproval. His friends had joked about having a young, pretty thing latched to their hip, and Marcus had rolled his eyes. Perhaps given a pal or two a smack around the head. He considered himself wiser than that—better than that. Or so he thought.

The change within him began quietly. Invading defenses the day he settled into his new life. The difference between him and his little truck and city-slinging people. It lacked the polish of the sleek vehicles roaming the city. The contrast between his humble truck and the flashing, modern cars of the city just screamed ‘fresh meat’ to the scowling, slimmer city living was looking for a bakery with a big fancy bay window - or Italia, Nate as his buddy said. Whatever the fuck that meant wasn'tsn't like he had to Google what it was, s and it wasn't like he was drifting along the busy road, phone propped up on the dashboard, threatening to fall over if he didn't grumble and keep it still, peering between the image and the buildings around him.

He parked awkwardly, the truck’s tire nudging the curb more than he would have liked, but he'd been edging back, and forth, forth trying to spot any space to park, and this was the only one that seemed to work. Cars blaring their raging horns at him. Taking a moment, he stared at the building, suddenly aware of the labor that lay ahead: unloading his entire life into a narrow s; this time, there was no team of buddies at his side.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he pressed his forehead against his palm, feeling the weight of fatigue and apprehension tug at him as if the city itself conspired against him. He glanced at his watch—still an hour until the moving crew arrived—and silently cursed. Always early to everything. That's how his parents raised him to be. But now and again it bit him in the ass just like now. His truck couldn’t possibly contain everything he owned, but he had clung onto those precious few keepsakes he couldn't bear to part with. The sheer price of it all ate into what spare funds he had on the side, meaning he'd be behind a while on groceries and emergency money. The tho ht hung in his mind like a fleeting shadow, provoking a frustrated click of his tongue.

Finally mustering the resolve to abandon the vehicle, Marcus trudged around to the back of his truck, retrieving a few boxes one by one, only to falter when he searched for an alternative entrance—be it a back or side door—anything but the front. But there was none in sight, and he didn't trust leaving his truck unattended in a new place. He's heard all the stories of what kind of hooligans we're skulking around in cities like these. With a resigned grunt, he slammed the truck door shut, trudged towards the bakery, and pushed open the front door, the chime announcing his arrival. Another curse leaving him.

He saw photos of the bakery and its interior but entering the space was a whole experience on its own. Greeted by a large square dining space with tables rowed at the walls most having four wooden chairs snuggly tucked in. All the chairs have a cushion on the seat with ruffles framing them. The tables were light wood and circular with a doily cover draped over it. Two menus in small stands on either side of each one. In the middle were small glass vases filled with daisies and baby's breath, pale yellow ribbons tied into bows at the neck of each vase. The floor creaked, covered In wooden panels. However, it was fake as it didn't have the same squeak he's used to hearing. At the windows there were white lace curtains and shutter blinds rolled and tucked out of view to let the sunlight pour in and soak the building in its natural warmth.

The rays of light bounced against the hanging ceiling lights; each one glass with various flowers engraved on a petal-like base. A turned-off bulb perched in the middle. At the edge of the dining space was a curved counter with a cash register, and a glass display case filled with various baked goods such as pastries, bread, and cakes, though it seemed to be half empty still. Behind the counter, there are shelves stocked with more baked items and different types of porcelain plates with flowers printed on them. A door sealed shut between the many cupboards and shelves.

To his relief, the bakery was empty—until a man appeared from behind the counter, wiping his hands on a faded, threadbare rag, surprise flickering across his face, soon giving way to a light-hearted chuckle. With a playful shake of his head, he approached Marcus.

“Let me help you with that! I didn’t expect to see anyone for a while,” he said, his voice laden with an unexpected warmth.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, skepticism lacing his voice as he shifted his grip on the precariously balanced boxes. “You’re the owner, right?” He knew he shouldn't be so stereotypical, but the man before him didn't seem like the type to enjoy a much…dainty interior.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m Randal,” he replied as he took a step closer. “And you must be the new neighbor. If you had texted ahead, I could have given you better directions.”

That just made Marcus grunt. Shrugging one of his shoulders. Randal effortlessly plucked one of the heavy boxes from Marcus's arms, letting out a small grunt as he did, a look of approval crossing his features as he assessed Marcus's strong arms. A flicker of respect for a man able to keep his strength up.

“There’s an alley behind the building. If you don’t mind, I can drive around back and help you out. It’ll save you from getting honked at all day,” Randal suggested, his eyes twinkling with knowing. He's been listening to the chorus of honks since the other man's arrival.

With another sigh, Marcus hesitated but nodded. He tightened his grip on the boxes. “That would be helpful. My keys are right here,” he replied, albeit with a lingering twinge of wariness. Yet, considering Randal’s age there was a certain level of reliability. He was put in some faith another man his age would be true to his word, especially considering he'd be living above his business. With a slight pop of his hip, he revealed the keys dangling from his belt loop, which Randal deftly took after putting the box he had taken onto a nearby table.

“Oi! Honey, mind being helpful? The neighbor’s here!” Randal hollered out suddenly, narrowing his eyes as he peered expectantly at the back door, as if willing it to swing open.

A moment of stillness hung in the air, broken only by a muffled voice drifting through the closed door. At last, it swung open with a loud creak, held wide by a stout stopper. You stepped into view, cradling a tray overflowing with an array of delectable treats, the faint scent of fresh-baked pastries wafting through the air. A displeased huff escaped your lips as you expertly slid the tray into the display case at the cashier, a light dusting of flour still lingering on your fingertips.

As you looked up, your eyes finally met those of your new neighbor. A radiant smile broke across your soft features as you hurried around the desk, eager to assist him with the heavy box he was struggling with.

“Grab the one on the table,” your father commanded from behind you, his voice firm, almost dismissive he retreated further into the back.

Your arms fell, swerving around to grab the box, and let out a noise of surprise at the heavyweight. Another huff escaped you. Of course. You looked back at Marcus, and the smile returned to your features. “Let's get these up.” adjusting the box in your grasp as you began to walk to the corner of the bakery where a staircase was tucked away. You already began trudging up as the matching wooden steps became less cared for and rustic compared to the dreamy softness of the bakery.

Marcus followed behind you, his heavy footsteps echoing through the bakery as he lugged the boxes. He couldn't help but notice the way your hips swayed as you climbed the stairs. He didn't mean to stare at your ass but it was right in front of him. Nicely rounded and snug in pale blue jeans. Or at least, that was his excuse until he pried his eyes away to watch his step. Though with the two boxes clutched to his chest, it wasn't the easiest task.

"I really wish they had an elevator." You joked, hoping to clear the stiff silence between you two.

"Yeah, I bet. It would definitely make this a lot easier," he replied, his voice gruff but tinged with amusement. He shifted the box in his arms, feeling its weight pressing against his chest. After a few steps, he spoke again, glancing back toward the dim light of the building that faded into the shadows of the staircase walls.

"So, your pops owns this place?"

"Yeah," you said, your voice trailing off slightly as you nodded. "He handles the numbers and works the cash register, but the bakery is meant to be mine. It just helps to have him manage the stuff I'm not so good at." You shrugged your shoulder as you forced yourself up a few more steps with a large stretch of your leg. The box was already making your arms ache, but that could also be due to hours of mixing and the grocery crates you had hauled in that morning.

"Ah, right. Makes sense with all the—" He cut himself off and cleared his throat. "He just doesn’t seem the type," Marcus muttered hastily as he tried to maintain the good manners that had been drilled into him since he learned to talk.

Following your lead, he hurried up a bit, knowing he still had plenty more boxes to carry. These stairs were going to be well acquainted.

He couldn't help but feel a twist at the bottom of his belly. He worked as a maintenance technician before coming here. I always get calls and texts for even the smallest of issues, like a slow coffee machine. Not exactly a business his Eliana was ever interested in. God knows she wasn't even interested in staying in town once college hit.

“good that you two can do something like that together.” he tried to put a smile in his voice but each word was like a bitter tar coating his tongue.

"yeah!" You agreed but there was a strain to your voice. Finally reaching the top, there was a narrow hallway with two doors on either side and another staircase leading to the people just above. You put the box down outside his door, which was on the right. You patted around your pockets and let out a surprised noise as you felt the bulk of keys in your front one.

"Dad gave me the keys to hold onto, wasn't sure if I still had them." You breathed out, pulling them out and unlocked the front door to his apartment. A singular small window illuminated the hall.

"Thanks, kid," he muttered, stepping into the apartment. The space was small, but it was clean and well-maintained. Though he could tell it was recently gutted of most of what furniture was in it from the streaks on the floor here and there. The walls were a soft beige, and the floors were covered in a worn but comfortable-looking carpet. A small kitchenette was tucked into the corner, and a narrow hallway led to what he assumed was the bedroom and bathroom.

He set the boxes down on the floor, stretching his arms above his head. His muscles ached from the exertion, but he welcomed the pain. It was a reminder that he was still alive, still capable of hard work. He didn't like to laze about for too long. Just the drive to the city made him itch to just do something. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth down the unruly strands that had come loose during the move. His heart was racing in his chest, and he couldn't quite figure out why. Maybe it was just the exertion from carrying the heavy boxes up the stairs, or maybe it was something else entirely. The daunting loom of this was it. He was really starting fresh.

You handed him the keys, a bit surprised by the rough scrape of his palm against your fingers. The hands of heavy labor were worn and built with a protective shield. You quickly retreated your hand back to your side, mouth opening to say something but then a call from downstairs echoed through.

"Hon! You up there still? C'mon! Am I doing all this lifting myself?" Your dad yelled with the sound of something heavy being smacked into.

"Shit- you get yourself sorted, we'll help you with the boxes." You were already making your way out of the apartment, switching between turning to him and the staircase. Another call from your dad made you spin back around and trot down the stairs with thunderous steps. "Yeah I'm coming-!"

Marcus watched as you hurried down the stairs, your footsteps fading away as you disappeared from view. He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand over his face. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment at your abrupt departure. Your presence would have been a nice distraction to the acid threatening to burn at his throat. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. But he just shook his head. He was being ridiculous. Empty nest syndrome or whatever they called it, that's all. Just wanting to cling to anything familiar. Anything that reminded him of who he once was.

He marched down the stairs not long after you. "My boxes, your handling, can't have you doing all the work." He called back and heard a chuckle from your father. A mutter of ‘I like this one' just caught in his ear as he marched down the steps.

And that was his day; at some point, he had to take over completely as the bakery opened u,p, and both of you had to turn your attention back to your business. The moving guys arrived 30 minutes late and well, they made up for it by their speedy rush and getting his furniture set up. And then, he was alone one more. He turned back to the boxes, unpacking them methodically. He had a system, one that he had perfected over the years. First, he would unpack the essentials - toiletries, a change of clothes, his coffee maker. Then he would move on to the more sentimental items - photos, mementos, his wife's old perfume bottle. Lastly, he would tackle the miscellaneous items - books, tools, knick-knacks. It was a process that he found comforting and familiar. It grounded him and reminded him of who he was and where he came from.

Everything was new, unfamiliar. Even the smell of the apartment was different - instead of the comforting scent of his over-burnt wood and spice candles, there was a faint whiff of vanilla and cinnamon, a remnant of the bakery below. It was disorienting, unsettling. He felt like a stranger in his own skin.

He paused, leaning against the wall as he caught his breath. His heart was pounding, his palms sweaty. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. He had done this for a reason, he reminded himself. He needed a change, a fresh start. He couldn't keep living in the past, couldn't keep clinging to memories that only brought him pain. He had to move on. He couldn't take staring at those empty seats at the dining room table.

He looked at the inner pocket of his jacket and sighed. Unable to bring himself to have the energy to attempt to scold himself. The nasty habit he was unable to kick. Lighting up the cigarette with practiced ease and placing the stick between his lips. Inhaling slowly as he slumped against the wall. What a fucking day.

To my heaven or your underworld?

Master List

(This was something I’ve had in the drafts and decided to post it!!) cute fem child reader!

Angst but fluffy and comforting

A cool breeze settled in the air on the crisp afternoon of July. Deep in the Zion Canyons, a beautiful waterfall stood, untouched by man. “Hurry up Gabriella!” A little boy called his friend. One who he had recently met, successfully dragging her out of the run down home. He stood tall on a rock, peering down at the little girl who was behind him. His freckled face held a flushed look due to the summer sun and his green eyes never wavered from her.

“I’M COMING!” She had yelled back at him, struggling to climb the rock with her hair constantly falling in her way. She dug her feet into the side of the smooth stone and was able to hoist herself up, successfully resting her upper body where he stood.

“I told you wearing your hair down was a bad idea” He wore a smirk, one that gloated about the fact that he knew better than her for once.

“Shut up, You threatened to leave me” She complained, rolling herself completely onto the platform-like area.

“Here, upsy daisy,” He took a gentle hold of her arms pulling her to stand next to him. He chuckled, watching her as she whipped the sweat from her forehead and hunched to catch her breath. “Are you that tired?” He rolled his eyes before turning his gaze to the beautiful scenery that was laid before them. Looking out onto the other side of the rock, a massive drop-off stood. With flowing water being produced by the massive waterfall that was displayed right in front of them.

“I think you’re forgetting t-that I have'' she huffed “I’m not meant WOAH” She gasped, cutting herself off, turning her full attention to the view as well. The waterfall stood tall, the rushing water silencing all outside noise. The sun reflected off it creating a hue of colors and illuminating the lush green surrounding it.

“I told you it was nice” He took a glance around, looking for the spot to climb down towards the water, he made his way to a rope that had been wedged between two smaller rocks. He had been here before, scotting for a place to take her. He decided that for Gabby's well-being, he’d make an easier way to get down before bringing her here. “I found it a while ago and knew you’d love it. '' He took a sturdy hold on the rope, giving it a harsh tug to ensure its stability. Once he was sure it was safe enough, he began to slowly make his way down.

“It’s so beautiful, HEY WAIT!” Gabriella rushed towards the rope, making sure to stay a safe distance from the edge, “H-Hey, where do you think you’re going?” She gasped as he continued down the side.

“Uh duh, I’m going for a swim” He moved his hands, one after the other, keeping his feet firmly planted on the steep wall and his eyes refused to waver from the gray stone directly in front of him. “Follow if you want! But if you’re too scared, go home” He made quick work climbing down, as if he’d done it a hundred times before. He stretched his foot searching for the comfort of solid ground. He was completely aware that she would follow, refusing to admit she was a chicken.

“I’M NO COWARD!” She called, hyping herself up for the daring task, “Come on Gabby, you got this” She whispered encouraging words as she took hold of the rope. Setting her body over the edge, refusing to look at the ground. Taking one hand and one step at a time, she slowly made her way down.

“I’LL CATCH YOU IF YOU FALL '' 20 feet below his voice sent a warm, almost calming sensation over her as she slowly continued to descend. “THAT'S IT” He continued to spew cheers, arms at the ready for if anything went wrong. “I promise I’ll get you there safely,” He said lowly, a promise not to her but to himself.

“AHH” Gabriell let out a shrill, her foot had slipped causing panic to course through her. Tightening her grip and squeezing her eyes closed, she dangled, softly swaying back and forth. She made multiple attempts to try and regain footing on the rock, but each time failed. Giving up on trying to fix her position she just swayed for a few seconds, her arms quickly growing tired.

“GABBY '' Panicked, he tried to follow her movements, He watched as her grip slowly began to loosen. He racked his brain for any ideas, he knew he had to act fast. “GABBY YOU GOTTA LISTEN” he kept glancing between her and the ground. With at least a 15-foot drop between her and the solid ground he knew very well that if she fell, they wouldn’t be able to finish the adventure.

“HELP, PLEASE” Something wet splashed onto his face, He looked back up at the girl hanging there, and he watched as tears rolled down her puffy cheeks.

“GABBY YOU GOTTA LOOK AT ME” He tried to coax her out of the panicked state, “GABBY PLEASE” He watched as she only tightened her eyes and wrapped her legs around the rope.

“N-no, it hurts' ' She could feel her hands start to bleed from her tight hold on the ragged rope. “I don’t wanna die” Her thoughts ran rampant praying to god, she began to receive every prayer she could remember from her Church classes, “Our Father who in heaven”

“GABRIELLA LISTEN TO ME” Her eyes shot open at the desperate tone of his voice, and she looked down, instantly regretting her decision. She quickly closed her eyes again and began to shake her head from side to side. “LISTEN TO ME PLEASE” His eyes traveled to the water next to him, about 4 feet to the left from where he stood, “GABRIELLA LOOK AT THE WATER,” he had hoped a small distraction would calm her before he offered his outlandish solution. Slowly she took a glance at the glistening water, once again captivated by its beauty.

“WHAT ABOUT IT” She could feel herself calm slightly, unknown as to why, whether it was her accepting that her arms would eventually give out, or that she trusted him to save her. She was grateful to have some sense of her surroundings,

“SWING TOWARDS IT”

“WHAT” She now looked at him, eyes wide and mouth gaping. She was shocked, out of all ideas she never thought his solution would be to just give up. “NUH NO WAY”

“I’VE THOUGHT IT OVER,” He stared right at her, a false smile on his face, “WITH ENOUGH MOMENTUM YOU CAN MAKE IT INTO THE DEEPER PART” She glanced between him and the water, from her perspective it looked like it was miles away, but she knew it was her best chance. She could feel her arms weakening and her blood only made her hands hurt more. She couldn’t shake the fear completely. What if she didn’t go far enough? What if the rope snapped? What if she drowned?

“GABRIELLA TRUST ME!” She looked back to where he was standing but he was gone, She looked desperately for his whereabouts. Cursing herself for losing sight of him, almost going back into a panic. Finally, she watched as he made his way into the water, standing shoulders deep and waving, “I PROMISE I’LL BE HERE” He stood showing her that the depth of the water was deep enough for her to jump into. Her eyes watered once again, watching she had an epiphany. It was the best shot she had, realizing this, she released her locked legs from the rope and hesitantly began a swinging motion. Acting as if she was at the local playground, kicking her feet back and forth to get momentum to go higher. She had done this hundreds of times, jumping off the swing at its peak to feel the thrill, but never had it been from this high. She continued the motion till she felt it was at a safe speed and height,

“I TRUST YOU” She screamed, letting go of the rope as her momentum headed forward. She plummeted towards the water, bringing her legs up into her chest. She shut her eyes tightly, bracing herself for the impact. The ice-cold water hit her feet first, resulting in her form slightly wavering, as the rest of her body became submerged, she completely let go. Eyes still shut tight but surrounded by the ice water, she floated for a second before a hand grabbed her t-shirt collar and another grabbed her shoulder. Jerking her up out of the water, she was met with worried green eyes and a tear-stained freckled face.

“Gabby, a-are you okay?” He readjusted his grip to help keep the girl afloat in the water, “Gabby?” He moved her wet hair from her face trying to get a good look at her. He stared at her for a moment before her lips curled into a massive grin.

“THAT WAS EXHILARATING” She screamed, throwing her arms around him, “I DID IT CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?” she was stuck between sobbing and laughing, He let out a sigh of relief, letting out a soft chuckle at her antics.

“That you did, handled it way better than I did” He held her tightly gently patting her back to comfort his racing heart. “You okay? Nothing hurt?” He pulled away to look her over, “Your hands” he huffed looking at the slightly tinted red water surrounding them. He brought them close to examine them, they held small cuts and were bruised but overall looked okay.

“Ah it’s nothing, the water is making them feel better though” She dismissed his worry, removing herself from his hold, and stood barely reaching out the water. “Let's head to shore, that way I can catch my breath properly,” She smiled before wading herself through the water.

“Wait! Are you sure you’re okay?” He followed close behind her, “You didn’t hit anything when you landed? Not the bottom right?” He tried to walk a little faster to catch her. “A-and there was no other kind of resistance right?”

“What? No, I’m all good” She dismissed his questions, continuing her trek. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing it’s just,” He stared at the back of her hair, weighing his options. He had already opened his mouth, might as well go through with it. “I’ll show you when we get to land”

“Okay, it’s not something life-threatening again right?” Gabby was now in waist-deep water, continuing to exit the water.

“No, I promise nothing will happen like that again” She only hummed at his response.

“We’ll see” With the water only ankle deep, she spun around and plopped herself into the water. Sitting on the rocky bottom, softly swaying feet in the water. “I can’t get over how clear the water is” She smiled, “Or the fact that I almost died” She took a deep breath,

“It is very nice huh?” He paused, “Well except for you almost dying!” He quickly added before squatting down next to her, messing with the rocks. Every now and then he picked up a rock to examine it. Gabby sat quietly examining as the water flowed, until “This one is good!” He cheered, standing up again. She jumped slightly, quickly turning her head to see what he had.

“It’s a rock?” Gabby only tilted her head softly, a confused look on her face.

“It’s a perfect skipping stone” He stated, glancing over at her before angling himself towards the waterfall, closing one eye, and sticking out a tongue to aim. He swung his arm back once before bringing it forward slowly, he repeated this action a couple more times before finally letting the rock go. Gabby's eye sparkled with amazement, watching as the stone went skipping towards the falls. Her smile dropped when suddenly the stone stopped,

“Huh, what happened?” With double the force it had been thrown with, the stone came skipping back towards the boy. With ease he caught the stone, smiling brightly and showing it off.

“Ain’t it cool? No matter how hard I throw it, it always comes back” He cackled,

“LET ME TRY!” Gabby stood fast and practically jumped on him to grab the rock.

“Okay, okay, here!” He set the smooth rock in her hand, and demonstrated what she needed to do, “So angle like this,” He shifted her slightly, “And now swing your arm to get the momentum” He watched as she followed his directions, “and on the way forward, LET GO!” As soon as he gave the command she let the stonefly, watching as it skipped across the water perfectly, before suddenly stopping. However, it sat for a moment, longer than they had anticipated before it came shooting back, “AHH”

“AHH” They both dived away from the stone that came rocketing back at them. Into the water they both splashed, creating a disturbance within the peace. Quickly sitting up to see what had happened he glanced over at her, “Ooh my gosh, what was that?” Gabby sat up, looking in the direction of where the stone had gone, there lodged into a tree was the smooth rock.

“Amazing” Shifting next to her, his eyes just stared at the tree. His face contorted into a brilliant smile, and his eyes glowed with a fire.

“Hehe, that was awesome!” She splashed water at him, drawing him out of his daze. He chuckled and returned her action.

They continued this banter for hours, giggling and playing with the water. The time flew by, quickly leading the sun to slowly set and the moon to rise. “This was the best day ever, I wish it could last forever!” Gabby giggled out of breath from running around.

“Yeah, me too” He chuckled looking over at her, his smile faltering slightly, taking a glance to the waterfall. It still sparkled even without the sun present.“Hey Gabby, what if it could last forever?” He was nervous about her reaction, “We could just stay here” His suggestion took her by surprise, it caused her smile to drop, and she stared at him for a moment. The once joyous environment turned cold.

“But what about our families?” She questioned, breaking the silence “I mean we can’t just disappear like that!” She voiced her concerns, beginning to pace around the water. “Where would we sleep? What if it rains? Or someone comes looking for us?” She finally stopped mid-pace, “What if they come looking and take me back?”

“That's why we should stay!” He was quick to argue “That's way you never go back! Plus we can live behind the waterfall!” He examined his excitement by pointing at the waterfall, “We’re safe here, it's our haven! Come On let's do it!”He prayed she would agree, not wanting to force her into anything.

“I a-are you sure?” Gabby just stared at him, switching between looking at him and the waterfall behind. The determination he held told her everything she needed to know. “Okay, yeah! Let's do it!” She matched his determined look, before breaking out into a bright smile. “Let’s live under the waterfall!” A soft smile returned to his face.

“I’m glad you’re going willingly,” He whispered under his breath. “Alright, Gabby it’s just you and me!” He held out his hand in a fist waiting for her.

“Oh Yeah!” She matched his fist with her own,

“Our own Netherworld” He smiled brightly at her, She returned the bright smile,

“Yeah, Our own Heaven!” She chuckled, “Lead the way Hades!”

This is a lover's to enemies to lovers story.

TW: Death, Child death, suicide, description of blood., Description of a burning building, and just overall sad

A soft breeze crossed the crisp air of the fall morning. “My love, your coffee is ready” A deep voice called from somewhere in the kitchen.

“I’m coming, just finishing up these papers.” Her light and airy voice carried through the small house. She smiled looking down at the ultrasound picture in her hand. She was so excited, a family had always been her dream and now it was coming true. Heavy footsteps came through the doorway, interrupting her train of thought.

“Here love, figured i’d just bring it to you,” He handed the coffee off to her, laying his head on her shoulder and began to admire the picture as well. “Couple weeks love, then we’ll be able to meet our baby boy,” He kissed her temple and patted her lower back before making his way back towards the living room.

“Oliver, are you going in for hero work today?” She glanced one last time at the picture then made her way to the living room, coffee in hand.

“Yes, I’ll be leaving at 4pm” he sipped his coffee eyes on the T.V, broadcasting his latest job at the train station. He truly loved his job, but the fact of the baby on the way troubled him slightly. “Anastasia, are you sure you’ll be able to handle the baby and everything while i’m at work,”

Anastasia rolled her eyes “There is no need to worry, the baby’s not even here yet, plus I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself,” She smiled seeing her husband on the couch, she cherished these moments. Ones where he was home safe and within her reach. Anastasia knew he loved saving people, since he was a child it’s been his dream but she was still fearful for his safety.

“You okay? You look a little lost in thought,” A hand waved in front of her face, scaring her. He chuckled softly, a whispered apology following. Both were startled however, by the sudden pain that shot through Anastasia’s stomach. Causing her to groan in pain and hunch slightly while Oliver stood ready to assist in any way.

“Ah, okay little guy,” she huffed rubbing her belly “You want to join the conversation?” She looked up smiling at Oliver,

“He’s just excited to meet his fantastic father” He gloated, showing a bright smile and puffing his chest. She couldn’t help the small chuckle as he stuck his signature hero pose.

“Yes, a true hero” with a soft kiss both relaxed into the sofa, smiling at the events that were yet to come.

The days flew by for the young, expecting couple, as the cool fall days turned into harsh cold winters the due date for the baby was only days away, Anastasia could feel it. After talking with Oliver they came to the conclusion that it would be best for her to stay in the hospital for the next couple of days. With Oliver being out for hero work, they feared no one would be present if Anastasia were to need help. “A hero’s hunch is always right” she sighed, rocking her baby boy in the delivery room. She had just asked the nurse to ring her mother-in-law, to see if she wanted to meet the baby. Anastasia looked at the boy, a replica of his father, “Not even a little?” She questioned herself. “My little Alex,” She kissed his head and admired his soft features. Alex, she loved that name, Defender of Mankind is what it meant, the definition of a hero.

“Mrs.Wilson, i’m sorry but she is unable to make it” The nurse gave her an apologetic smile before moving to adjust the new mothers pillow, “No mom should be alone in a delivery room, especially on New years,”

“Oh it’s okay, my husband had a massive gala he couldn’t miss” Anastasia knew her husband's job was important to him, especially attending events like these, kept his popularity up. “I’ll see him when I get home” her soft but sorrow filled smile caught the nurses attention.

“Does he even know that you went into labor?” The nurse fluffed the pillow and refilled the water cup that sat on the bedside table.

“Huh, oh no” she softly thanked the nurse for the water “He’s busy, I wouldn’t want to disturb him,” She took a large gulp of water before setting the cup down and returning her attention to her baby, lifting him up into the air slightly.

“It’s okay to cry,” The nurse took the baby from Anastasia's arms, putting him in the small crib next to the bed. “I’m here for you Mrs.Wilson,” She sat down on the bed, taking Anastasia into her comforting arms. “Let it all out love.”

“I’m sorry,” Anastasia accepted the hug and sobs flooded onto the shoulder of the nurse. “I *hick-up* I know I shouldn't be mad b-but..”

“No no honey, you have every right to be angry,” She rubbed soft circles onto the mothers back, “Don’t think like that.” She allowed the women to cry for a couple of minutes offering all the comfort she could, even releasing tears of her own. What man does this? She thought to herself “Shhh hush love, you need rest,” The nurse laid Anastasia’s head down onto the fluffy pillow and gently picked up “Baby Alex,” She smiled cooing at the baby then gently laying him down right next to his mother. “I’ll be back in a little to check up on you,” She kissed the young woman's head and left, allowing her the much needed rest.

Anastasia was overcome with sadness or was it anger she wasn’t quite sure. Holding her baby tightly thinking back to the event of earlier today. “Oliver, I think the baby’s coming,” She had called her husband several times, each time going to voicemail. She huffed sitting in the chair practicing her breaths. “Guess we’re on our own little one,” she rubbed her belly, resisting the urge to cry “We got this.” She gently patted Alex’s back , “Your father loves us, I promise,” She fought against the fatigue that was drawing her closer to sleep with every passing second. “He’s a fantastic hero, he will always protect us.” Sleep finally won, dragging her into a blissful rest.

“Mrs.Wilson, Mrs.Wilson '' the nurse gently shook Amastasia's shoulder successfully waking her, “Hun, we just have to do a quick check up and then you’ll be good to go,” She smiled at the woman.

“R-really? I can go home,” She sat up, careful of her son who was still sleeping next to her, “D-did Oliver ever show?” She was hoping to wake and find her husband there ready to carry them home. She looked around the room surprised to see a very large man sleeping in the corner. A spark of hope was lit that he had shown but upon further examination it was “Dad?”.

“Ah yes, Mr.Andrew came by after I called him, he was on your emergency list,” The nurse turned and grabbed the tray of food she had brought in. “I was amazed, he showed up in like 5 minutes” she smiled looking at the hunched man, “He was so worried, he truly does love you.” With that comment she set the tray across Anastasia lap and took her leave.

“Dad, Hey Dad,” She called but got no response, looking around she saw the pudding cup on her tray and decided to chuck it at him. He’ll catch it, she thought. Without even opening his eyes, he went to catch the cup but completely missed, resulting in it hitting him directly in the face. Anastasia couldn’t help the giggle that came flooding from her mouth. “D-dad,” she laughed. Like a contagious disease the laughter caught on, Alex let out a baby giggle and Mr.Andrew lost all composteur cackling at the sound, opening his eyes to his daughter's bright smile. “I appreciate it old man, I needed that”

“Of course Sparky,” He stood, the chair squeaking from the release of his weight. The large man stood straight, being mindful of the T.V that hung above his head, he leaned over to pick up the pudding cup before putting it in his pocket. “So, let me see my grandbaby,” He made soft grabby hands while walking towards the bed.

“Here you are, his name is Alex,” she felt slightly guilty that Oliver would not be the first person to hold his son, especially with the person he hated most being the one standing in the room with her. “He’s so small compared to you” She smiled, admiring the joy on her fathers face, “Happy to be a granddad?”

“You know, when I held you for the first time, you were even smaller,” He said with a smile, looking as if he would cry.

“That was a very long time ago,” Anastasia committed taking a bite out of her food

“Naw that was only a few years ago,” He rocked Alex gently before setting him in the small crib, he made silly faces at the child before turning his head to his daughter “Where is he?” His demeanor suddenly became dark and serious.

“Uh, he’s uh,” she could see the rage behind her father's eyes at her missing husband. Oliver I’m so sorry she felt bad. “He was at a gala, I did try calling him,” She flinched at the wave of anger that flooded from the man.

“BASTARD HOW DARE HE,” The large man raged, and the earth shook slightly from his outburst. He only stopped when he heard the waile of Alex. “Oh baby, shhh, it’s okay love, no need to cry,” he hushed “I will always be there to protect you and your mother,” He gently rocked the crib successfully calming the baby. “I’ll be taking you home today, and if I see Oliver, now I will be having a talk with him,” Fumes came from his nose, “face to fist.”He punched his palm to emphasize on his sentence.

“Dad seriously it’s not that bad,” she tried to reason, fearful for her husband's safety.

“No, it is,” he leaned and gently kissed Anastasia's forehead, “I left your mother alone they day you were born and look what happened,” He gesture to her missing presseance “I refuse to let you be alone, especially on the greatest day of a parents life,” He smiled down at her, “Let's get the check up over with and go get some ice cream,” He called for the nurse and removed the tray from Anastasia’s lap.

“Dad, are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Anastasia stood outside the car rocking Alex in her arms, “because it looks like you’re struggling” She commented on her father attempting to put a carseat in. “here, i’ll just go grab a nurse or something”

“GOT IT,” a cheer of success was shouted as Mr.Andrew stood from his hunched position. “Alright, get the snot in and let's get ice cream,” He watched as she loaded the baby in and then sat with him. “Here let me,” He took the seat belt from her hand and buckled her in.

“Thanks Dad,” she smiled at him as he closed the door and ran around to the other side to get in. “Alrighty, let’s go.”

“Honey, where are your keys?” Mr.Andrew stood at her front door, searching in the baby bag for them while trying not to spill the ice cream cone in his mouth.

“Check the small pocket on the left side,” She unbuckled the carseat, careful of the sleeping Alex still sitting in it.

“Found them, hold on I’ll unlock it then come get you,” He quickly unlocked the door, set the bag down on the small rod iron table by the door, swallowed the rest of his cone, and ran to assist her. “Allow me,” with ease he took the carrier in one hand and picked Anastasis up with the other. “Good?” she smiled and only nodded in response .

Once settled on the couch surrounded by every pillow found in the house and stuffed animal, Anastasia could finally truly relax. “Thank you Old man, really,” she smiled seeing her father sitting on the floor next to Alex’s baby bouncer.

“Of course hon, it’s always a pleasure when I get to see you,” He looked up from the baby to stare at his daughter “Especially since our interactions are so little,” He could see the tears forming in her eyes and immediately felt bad for making her cry. “H-hey I’m just teasing honestly,” He got off the ground quickly, making his way to the couch.

“N-no because you're right,” she stood to hug him, “I promised h-him I would stay away b-ut” She sobbed into his chest “That-ts not fair to you, you or me,” She loved her father deeply. He was the only parent in her life. He spoiled her but made sure she understood the values of a human life. After getting married to Oliver, interaction with her dad was practically a sin.

“No, no, Anastasia, we both know my work is not for the faint of heart,” He embraced her tightly, trying to keep all the disappoint of reality away “It was for the best, I just hate that he’s not the one who's here,” He began rocking back and forth, swaying to an imaginable tone. “I’m always here for you, no matter how long we’ve been apart.”

“I'M SO SORRY,” She wailed, every second of this, she hated. Why was her dad here, the one who was supposed to be killing people not saving them. Where was her hero of a husband at. She wanted to scream, yell but she took a breath, settling her heart “Ironic huh?” she whispered,

“What is dear,” he leaned lower to hear her.

“How you, a mass murder is here, taking care of his daughter and grandkid” she took a deep breath, “While my husband, a hero, is gone nowhere to be found.” tears were free to fall as she swayed with her father. Taking deep breaths to calm her enraged heart.

“I guess it is huh? But you know better than anyone that I’m a hero, a true one,” He pulled away slightly to look at her tear stained face. “I don’t kill for fun or pleasure, just like I trained you,”

“You kill those who threaten other lives,” She whispered, looking at the floor, “Humans are special creatures, each one is priceless,” slowly raising her head to meet her fathers stare

“Until they take another life,” He finished, “I get rid of those who believe it’s okay to kill someone, I myself am worthless now but it’s a small price to pay,” He gently petted her hair, soothing any flyaways. “But to keep you safe, every life is worth it,”

“I love you old man,” she smiled looking up at him,

“And I love you my little spark” he let a tear run down his cheek, cherishing this small moment as he knew the time was limited.

The front door slammed, startling the two relaxing in the living room and causing the baby to cry. “ANASTASIA,” a panicked voice called but got no response, “ANASTASIA PLEASE ARE YOU HOME?!” desperation is the only way to describe Olivers tone,

“Olive? I’m in the living room.” Anastasia called to her worried husband, getting up off the couch to meet him with a hug.

“Ohh my wife is missing,” Mr.Andrew mocked the man, even flaring his arms in a dramatic manner.

“I-is someone with you?” Oliver asked jogging into the living room. He froze when he saw the large man sitting on the sofa, with a baby in his arms. “R-roger? You,” He practically growled at the man, “Put. My. Son. Down,” he got into a fighting stance, preparing to force the man out of his house. He watched as Roger handed you the baby before cracking his neck.

“Oh, yes your son,” Roger stood to his full height, “Yes, yes the one who’s birth you missed,” with a quick step Oliver was pinned against the wall, Roger holding him by his throat, there was no strain as Roger continued his talk “Leaving my daughter alone, and having to call me a Villain,” He smirked as Oliver tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

“Dad, Put. Him. Down,” Anastasai said, never taking her eyes off of him. “Please, let's just talk this out,” Roger only nodded, lowering Oliver's body so he could stand on his own feet.

“Anastasia, we had an agreement,” Oliver felt betrayed in a way “you promised,the hell?” He stood frozen against the wall.

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” Roger roared, the earthing shaking with his scream, he was about ready to kill the man right where he stood. He took a quick look at his grandson, who sat in his mothers arms and decided against it. “You have no right to make a claim like that,” Roger fumed. He stepped back allowing Oliver to relax his shoulders slightly.

“Oliver..” Anastasaia’s voice was dark and venomous, “I called him because you weren't there,” She looked directly at him, he shivered at her stare feeling as if she was looking at his soul itself. “You promised you’d be there but you weren’t,” she huffed gently, rocking Alex.

Oliver was quickly dropped to his knees, putting his head to the floor. He knew he messed up, missed something amazing. He could not fix this but he was determined to try, he loved his wife with his entire heart but his career also held a special place in him. “I can not express the regret and guilt I’m feeling,” He let tears run down his face, landing on the tan carpet beneath him. “Please, w-what can I do to fix this?” He looked up hoping for a reaction from his wife but he was met with the bottom of Roger’s shoe which sent him flying a second later. He hit the wall with a loud thud and the cracking concrete was heard. Oliver let out a cough that held a little blood in it.

“Could start with letting me beat the ever living..” Roger huffed not finishing his sentence due to the young ears present. He watched as Anastasia rushed to help him out of the wall,

“You can start by taking a week off and helping me with Alex,” She grabbed one of Oliver's arms helping him up, while still being mindful of Alex in her other arm.

“Yeah,” He wheezed, “Sounds like the least I could do,” He quickly wiped his mouth before realizing the little life she was holding was reaching out to him. “I-is this him?”

“Yes, this is Alex, our son,” Anastasaia smiled as her husband gently embraced his son, holding him close to his chest.

“T-thank you,” He hick-uped softly, looking at his wife and smiling before dragging her into a group hug. “You truly are amazing,” for the first time since the start of the gala he felt true bliss, basking in the light of his wife and his newborn. He took a glance up at Roger, he stood there with a smile but his eyes held a different emotion. One Oliver couldn’t pinpoint but he knew whatever it was, was aimed directly at him.

“I think I'll take my leave now,” Roger announced while walking towards the small family. He opened his arms for his daughter, who was quick to join him in a hug. “He won’t save you, you know that,” He whispered into her ear, making sure to keep his voice low so Oliver could not hear. “He will save the world before he saves you,” He kissed her forehead before bending lower to hear her response.

“I’ll bet you then,” She matched his tone. “If there is ever a day where he doesn't save us, I’ll come home back to you,” that peeked Roger interest, she had practically agreed to leave with him.

“You got yourself a deal, sunshine,” He smirked, pulling away and shaking her hand.

“Deal? What deal?” Oliver questioned staring at the two while burping Alex.

“Nothing, I was just leaving,” Roger bid his last goodbye and left out the door, making sure it closed and locked behind him.

“What deal Anastasia?” Oliver asked, wanting to know what exactly happened.

“Don’t worry, he’ll never win,” her smile faded slightly when she looked at his sad face “trust me my love, All is well” He only nodded and smiled at her.

“I truly am sorry, I never meant to hurt you like that,” He set his son in the bouncy chair and brought her into a deep embrace. “I promise, I will make it up to you somehow.”

“I’m just happy you’re home safe and sound,” She returned his tight embrace and dug her head into his shoulder. “Let’s sit for a minute, Alex has been dying to meet you,” She smiled as his face lit up like a flame.

“That sounds fantastic,” he gently dragged them to the floor near Alex. Oliver could only smile as he watched his son babble at his mother.

“OLIVER, PLEASE, I UH I,” Anastaisa huffed into the phone, “I’m running to the hospital, A-Alex stopped,” She felt like puking, the car had refused to start and there was no time to call for a taxi. Alex had awoken with a high fever well over 101℉, Anastasia had tried everything to lower but it refused to budge. “His Fe-fever is high and he’s breathing funny,” She continued pushing, making sure to avoid any large dips in the concrete to prevent the stroller from going off tracks. She refused to give into her body's fatigue, “I-I’m almost there, If you cou-could meet me there?” She’s been trying to get in touch with her husband for the last two miles. She’s trying to maintain her own breathing while making sure her nine month old was still breathing . Her movements completely halted when she heard wheezing from the front of the stroller, she quickly went to the front, seeing her son's face a shade of purple that sent her into panic mode. “A-Alex, hold on,” She looked around for anything, an idea that could help, “Screw it,” with a huff she unbuckled him from the seat and cradled him safely on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, but the stroller is too slow,” She whispered her apology before taking off in a sprint towards the hospital. Being careful of his head she ran as fast as she could, Guess training pays off she thought. Another couple miles and the hospital was finally in view, ringing was coming from her pocket but she ignored focusing solely on the task at hand. “Almost,” she encouraged herself to finish the trek. Finally, dogging cars through the parking lot and practically jumping all the steps that led to the door, “HELP PLEASE MY SON,” She called into the familiar waiting room.

“Mrs.Wilson?!” The nurse who had helped deliver Alex was sitting at the front desk.

“ P-Please, He’s,” dripping in sweat Anastasi tried to catch her breath, “h-he’s not breathing,” Quick to action the nurse called for him to be brought back, and an oxygen mask was put on him assisting him in breathing. “ Please, I,” she felt embarrassed, sitting here in her house wear, no make-up, and drenched in sweat.

“Mrs.Wilson, breath please, We will take care of him,” Her arms found Anastasi with ease and brought a familiar comfort. “I will take you back to a room, I promise he will be okay,” She then led her into an empty room a little down the hall, making her sit on the bed in there. “Let’s take a breath, please,” the nurse instructed Anastasi to breathe in then slowly release it. “You are a fantastic mum,” She rubbed her back gently, “I’m assuming you ran here on your own?” Anastasi only nodded, still trying to regulate her breaths.

“I- I was so scared,” Her confession in the form of a whisper, “He was w-wheezing and the car wouldn't start, so,” She looked up at the nurse.

“You ran several miles to get here, and in the nick of time too,” A doctor walked in interrupting the duo's conversation. He tapped his clipboard three times, “Truly amazing Mrs.Wilson, any later and this would be a serious issue,” The doctor smiled a calm and comforting smile.

“H-he’s okay? What happened?” Anastasia stood meeting the doctor half way,

“He’s doing much better, we got him on oxygen and gave him some medicine to help with the fever” He gently grabbed her hand as the nurse rubbed soft circles on her back. “As for the issue with his breathing, it seems that he is asthmatic,”

“Asthmatic?” Anastasia knew her mother-in-law was asthmatic but Oliver wasn’t, Must have skipped a generation her mind settled at the good news. She let out a soft sigh before looking at the doctor so he could continue.

“Yes, but it is very common for young children especially if it runs in the family,” He reassured her, “I recommend getting him in to see a specialist so they can prescribe him with an actually one but for the time being we, we will issue an emergency inhaler,” He let go of her hand and looked to the nurse, “Please get her a glass of water then take her back.” With a nod of confirmation, he left out the door and back into the halls.

“I- thank you, thank you so much,” Anastasia looked at the nurse, teary eyed but smiling non the less .

“Of course love, let's get you settled,” She smiled. Guiding her further into the hospital's halls.

“Hello, I’m here for Alex, Alex Wilson,” Heavy breath came from Oliver's lips. He had left right after work to join his wife, not even bothering to change out of his uniform.

“Oh Mr.Wilson, welcome,” The check-in lady smiled up at him, “You can find him in room 1313 on the 13th floor.” She handed him a visitor sticker and pointed him in the direction of the elevators.

“Thank you,” He stuck the sticker onto his hero uniform and followed the lady's directions to the elevators. After weaving between doctor, nurses, and other patients he arrived at his son’s room. “Anastasi, I-I’m here,” He pushed open the door calling for her, his words were halted when he saw her laying in bed sleeping, with Alex nuzzled on her chest. Her hand unconsciously patting his back.

“You’re late again,” A deep voice sounded from the window seal area. A man appeared, dressed in a suit and glasses covering his face.

“Who are you? And why are you here?” Oliver was cautious but in order to not draw attention kept his voice low.

“Names Kage, I’m Roger’s right. hand. man,” He smirked as a look of fear crossed Oliver's face, “He sent me here to check on her, one of his minions saw her running here and just wanted to be safe,”

“Does she know this?” Oliver nodded his head towards the bed where Anastasia slept peacefully.

“No, no and she won’t, because you’re not gonna dare tell your wife,” He made a fake pouty face, patting his fake eyelashes “That you let a villain protect her again, right?” His face broke into a dangerous smile. “Well now that you’re here I’ll be on my way,” He jumped up and stood on the window seal, “Can’t wait to tell boss it took you 5 hours to show up,” He chuckled before sliding open the window and jumping out.

“Damn it, stupid Roger,” Oliver huffed and glared at the window for a moment before heading towards the bed. “Anastasia, Anastais, My love,” He tapped her shoulder multiple times, “B-baby,” he huffed as the only response he received was a soft snore.

“I would let her rest, she’s been worrying for the last few hours,” The nurse announced her presence, scaring Oliver causing him to jump slightly. “I’m glad you actually showed up to this event,” the nurse scoffed at Oliver’s offended face before gathering some trash that was lying about the room. She stopped, trash bag in hand and held it out to Oliver, “ the woman who took care of your wife when she was pregnant, and the one who delivered your son,” she let him take the bag then walked out the door just as quickly as she had arrived.

“I- I had work,” He tried to argue but stopped seeing as she was long gone. Man the whole worlds against me He huffed before taking a seat in the chair closest to the window, I miss 2 measly events and suddenly I’m the bad guy He observed the room, taking in the small details, like how Anastasia favorite food sat on the counter or how there was a stuffed animal dressed in his super suit. How much have I missed? He sighed, dragging his hands across his face before running them down his neck. Is everything really that important? Or is Anastasia just dramatic. He removed his hands from his face and ran them up and down his knees a couple of times before grabbing his phone from his pocket. He scolded through his emails, reading some he had marked as important and deleting spams.

“Oliver? What,” Anastasia awoke slowly sitting up, cradling Alex to her chest to prevent him from falling, “What time is it?” She gently rubbed her eyes with her free hand, allowing them to adjust to the dim light of the hospital room.

“Hey love, it’s five-thirty,” He looked up from his phone and offered a forced smile. “How’s everything?” He set his phone down on the small table next to him, setting his full attention on her.

“Where uh Where were you?” She looked at him, completely ignoring his question, “I made sure to call when,” Her eyes sharpened as she registered the time, “I called you when you were doing paperwork,” She stood up, setting Alex down and securing him on the bed. “I called you hours ago,” She walked towards him like a predator who’s captured her prey, “Why are you so late?”

“Honey, you know I had work,” He rose and smiled at her “You’re overreacting and being unfair here,” He argued for his innocence.

“You know I would believe you, honestly I would,” She practically hissed out her sentence. “But, I called your Office, “ His eyes widened, questioning what in the world he would have been doing. “Your lovely secretary told me you were doing paper work all day?”

“Anastasia, they were important incident reports, I needed to get them done before I left,” He argued, matching her eyes with the same harsh glare, “You know how important my work is to me.”

“Yes, which is why I call WHEN YOU’RE DOING FREAKIN PAPERWORK,” She roared, scaring Oliver and causing him to stagger back slightly. “I mean, come on,” Anastasia was filled with rage, “there are other heroes you know? They can help out with the work too,” huffed into his face before backing away.

“I’m sorry,” He still stood there in shock at his normally calm wife's outburst. She looked just like her father, and the air was so deadly, He shifted uncomfortable looking at his wife, “I- I uh I’ll take a week off to help with,” He took a deep breath, “Help with Alex,”

“You can’t keep showing up after the fact,” She turned her back and made her way to the door

“Where are you going?” He was quick to follow, afraid she might walk out completely,

“Relax, I’m going to get the nurse hun, so we can go home and talk,” Anastasia turned to face her husband, making sure to grab his hand, “We will be okay” she kissed his cheek, then descended down the hall in search of a nurse.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” He couldn’t take his eyes off her figure, whispering the promise. Maybe I’m the one underreacting. He sighed, turning back into the somewhat empty room. “Okay little guy, Please stop ruining my marriage” He made his way over to the bed where his boy layed. He stared down at the small figure smiling as Alex slept, swaddled up in a blanket. “Oh my baby boy,” He gently ran his hand over his head, “I promise, I’ll make this right with your mom”

“WARNING WARNING FIRE DETECTED,” A blaring alarm sounded through the hospital, “WARNING WARNING,”

“COULD THIS DAY GET WORSE?” Oliver yelled out in annoyance over the blaring alarm before quickly moving to cover his son’s ears. “Shh Baby, Let’s get you to mama,” I’m sure she’ll be back any second

“OLIVER!” Anastasia came rushing into the room, a small pair of earphones in hand, “I grabbed these for him,” She quickly placed them on the baby’s head and took him from Oliver's hands. “I found a nurse but the alarm went off.”

“Stay here, I’m gonna go see what’s going on,” He rubbed her shoulder and went for the door,

“What no, babe we’ll just evacuate,” Anastasia also began for the door,

“Hon, I’m sure it’s just a false alarm,” He smiled at her before pointing to his head, “Hero's Instincts,”

“Okay, I trust you,” She held the baby closer and nodded.

“I’ll be back, once I do a perimeter check,” He kissed her head before running out the door and down the hall.

“He’s wrong you know?” Anastasia jumped at the sudden voice from behind her. It didn’t take long for her to recognize it.

“Kage, w-what?” She was puzzled by the appearance of her once babysitter. “Why are you here? Is dad here too?” She smiled, Maybe he came to visit me and Alex.

“Sorry sweet thing but your old mans not here today,” He brushed over her other question simply smiling at her. “We do need to leave relatively soon tho love, that fire is real,” He gently tugged at her arm, leading her towards the door.

“What, no no Oliver said it was a false alarm,” She stood her ground adjusting Alex slightly. “His hero instincts said so,” She gave him a small smile

“Yeah, well what does your gut say?” Kage asked, Rule #1 only trust your own gut He sighed thinking about the first rule he ever taught her.

“I-I’m not a hero so it doesn't matter,” She took a deep breath, Oliver would never lie to me. She removed herself from Kage’s grip and went to sit on the bed.

“Please Hun, we really need to go,” He walked towards her, trying to reason, Damn stubborn Andrews “Anastasia, Please,” He was willing to beg if it meant getting her out of here.

“Leave me Kage, If something really is wrong I can save myself,” Only sinking deeper into the sheets

“FINE,” He huffed, walking towards the window, “Save yourself then Doll,” He opened the curtains then the window before diving out Seems like Deja Vu.

“He was just being protective,” Anastaisa cooed at Alex slightly bouncing him, she waited patiently for any type of new but nothing came.

“Why are you trusting Oliver,” Another voice came from the room, this time it was softer, younger, and far more childlike. It had a honey like tone, “He’s lied to us so many times,” A small girl walked from within the shadows. Her face, hair, and eyes were oh so familiar to Anastasia. “Remember when he promised to take us to that Gala? Or A honeymoon after our wedding?” She continued, walking towards the bed. Her smile slowly faded with each step.“Or when our dream of a family finally came true? ” She glanced at Alex and the once sweet tone turned bitter, “WHERE WAS HE?” She screamed, causing Anastasia to jump.

“WHO ARE YOU?” With the scare she stood, ready to defend Alex.

“Who am I? Who are You, Dad raised us better,” The voice was now right in Anastasia's ear but yet no one was there, “Wake up please, before you get us killed,” like a quick breeze the voice was gone, faded into nothing.

“T-The hell,” She was shaking, tears were streaming down her cheeks yet she didn't remember them forming. Us? Dad? Killed? Who was the girl? She went to stand when a loud cracking noise was heard from above her. THE FIRE, I knew it. It was like she had snapped out of a daze, her rose colored glasses suddenly turned to gray. She was quick to move as the roof slowly began to crumble. It must have started at the top floor and made its way down. She quickly facinded the baby carrier on her back and set Alex inside it. “We have to get out of here,” She cursed herself for her ignorance. “Why wouldn’t I evacuate, I’m such an idiot,” She huffed making her way down the long hallway. As she passed each room, each one was empty, not even a nurse could be seen.

“IS EVERYONE OKAY?” Oliver called out to the group of people in front of him. He had small burn marks all along his clothes but his skin was still untouched. I think I cleared everyone out. He smiled at his good work.

“SIR WE ARE MISSING PEOPLE,” a women cried

“What, who? I checked every floor,” He argued

“My Husband, Please” she grabbed onto his arm, “He’s still please,” She cried

“Okay, Don’t worry I promise I’ll save him,” He ran back into the burning hospital, Covering his mouth to avoid inhaling the dark smoke, “HEY, IS ANYONE HERE,” he frantically searched for the man, moving tables and chairs to get a clear view.

“OVER HERE, PLEASE, I'M STUCK,” An old scratchy voice came from somewhere in the smoke filled room.” Oliver grabbed his phones from his pocket, quickly turning on the torch to illuminate the room.

“Hey, man I’m gonna get you outta here,” He made quick work in removing a chunk of the ceiling that had surely crushed the man's right leg. “Up you go old timer,” He gently heaved him up onto his back,

“WAIT,” the old man screamed, huffing from the smoke, “A woman a-and her baby are still in there,” He pointed inward a little. “She has this dark brown hair,” He tried to remember the women he had seen while rushing down the stairs.

“Anastasia,” Oliver whispered, staring down the hall. He went to set the man down but halted. What kind of hero risks someone's life for selfish desire? He breathed and tightened his hold on the man before running towards the exit.

“WAIT WHAT ABOUT HER?” clingy to Oliver the old man voiced his concern,

“I have to save you, I’m sorry” His tone was soft, sorrowful.

“Are you going back for her?” As they made it out of the hospital both took a breath of the much fresher air.

“I-I should, yes,” He went to move. But what kind of man lets his wife die? He was stunned, Surely she wouldn't die right,

“THERE SHE IS,” The old man cheered seeing the silhouette of the women running towards the exit. Oliver smiled in relief,

“Anastasia,” He could move, seeing his wife so close to safely allowed a weight to be lifted. He could feel his feet begin to move back towards the burning building . “ANASTA..,” the sound of cracking interrupted his call. Looking right above her figure he saw the only exit begin to crumble.

“OLIVER, HELP” she called voice ruff and smoke filled. He froze, all motion stood still as he watched the ruble fall, successfully trapping her into the building

“NO, ANASTASIA” falling to the ground, He felt faint, like he was going to puke. The people around screamed, begging for him to get up and help. But he was left immobile on the hard asphalt. His thoughts began to flood his mind, canceling out all noise around him. What if I went looking for her, what if I agreed and she had evacuated. He sat on the ground while watching the building burn. “No,no no PLEASE,” He howled pounding into the ground, creating a crack in the asphalt. “ANASTASIA,” He took a sharp inhale “ALEX” laying his head to the ground he sobbed, why, why.

“Mr.Wilson” the soft voice of the nurse called for him. It was a nice change compared to her tone earlier. “Mr.Wilson, please you’ve been out here for hours.”

“I’m sorry,” Hours? Oliver refused to move his head, I’ve wasted hours out here but I would’ve only taken a minute to save her. His soft whimpers sounded so faint, as if his vocal cords were all used up.

“Mr.Wilson, please” The nurse dropped to the ground next to him, gently taking his body into her. “Please love, breathe, I know,” His body shook in her hold, “I know baby, I know,” She gently began rocking back and forth, humming a lullaby. Her attempt to comfort him did little to help. She watched as the once noble hero sobbed his heart out on the floor.

“It’s all my fault,” he took a shaky breath, “If I only listened and actually showed up when it mattered,” He felt so broken, so incomplete. Would things have been different if I had actually shown up? He lifted his head, looking directly at the sky. Would she be here scolding me for the burns? He held his arm up above his head, staring at the burns that littered his hand. Must have been when I rescued the old man. His arm dropped back to his side, scraping against the asphalt on its way.

“Oliver Wilson,” the nurse’s voice was demanding, as if she was scolding a small child. “Sir, You need to get up, your wounds are severe.” She grabbed his unburned hand and made an attempt to bring him up with her. “Please sir, for Anastasia you need to survive,” She tried to reason.

“I want to join her,” Harshly pulled his arm away, he remained on the floor, eyes still aimed at the sky. “My son, my wife, what reason do I have to remain here?” He whispered, expecting to receive no answer.

“BECAUSE YOU ARE A HERO,” The nurse screamed, standing up over him. “YOU LOVED YOUR JOB SO MUCH THAT YOU PUT IT ABOVE HER!” harshly grabbing him and forcing his eyes onto her. “You played hero when you should have been playing husband,” She huffed, tears streaming down her soot ridden face. “So at the very least,” letting out a soft sob, “You can dedicate the rest of your life to being a hero.” releasing with a soft shove back, she wiped her tears refusing to look at Oliver. “Amend for the mistakes you made, by never making them again,” making her way towards the small medical area to retrieve some bandages for him.

It’s been four years since the incident, and nothing has changed. The rain fell, running down the Olivers office window. I miss them everyday, but I can’t stop not now. He looked down at the newspaper that sat on his desk. Right on the front page he stood with a bright smile. Four years since my biggest mistake, my biggest regret. A strike of lightning illuminated the sky, so ingrained in his thoughts, he missed the shadow that appeared with it. As fast as the lighting had appeared the figure was gone with it. “DAMN HERO WORK” ripping the paper from the desk, holding it near his face. “DAMN ME!” Tearing the news to shreds, he allowed the paper to fall to the floor making a large mess. “Damn me” He whispered, collapsing to his knees, leaning his head against the desk.

“Poor, Poor pitiful you” A deep voice called from behind him. He took a glance behind him but before he could react, was met with a large hammer that sent him flying through the glass window, shattering it on the way. The world started to fade into black as he fell from the top of the building. The wind rushed through his ears and hair causing even more insanity in his mind. The only thing he saw was a silhouette of two people, one with a hammer resting on their shoulder and the other with their white teeth twisted into a smile.

“Oliver? Oliver, are you okay honey?” A caramel-like voice called out to him. It was smooth and rich, almost like he could hear the sugar in it. “Oliver, Hun you have Work” His form was now being shaken, rather aggressively. “OLIVER” The voice screamed.

“Hu-huh what!!” His eyes shot open, searching the room for a second. He was met with these gray greenish eyes. Focusing his attention on the owner of the eyes, staring deeply into them. “A-anastasia?” He slowly sat up, his eyes refusing to leave hers.

“Yes love? Are you feeling okay?” She put her hand to his forehead, feeling his temperature. “You are a little sweaty,” Anastasia removed her hand wiping it on the blue apron she was wearing. “I'll get you a cooling cloth,” Making her way towards the door.

“NO WAIT!” He sat up getting out of bed, rushing to hug her. “P-please, let’s just lay down,” he stood there for a second before walking backwards towards the bed. Making sure to never remove his arms from around her. He sat them both on the bed, keeping her close. “I’ve missed you,” He huffed, digging his face into her neck. A bad dream, it was all a bad dream. The fire, the death all just a nightmare.

“Aww love, You were only in France for a week,” She placed her hands in his hair, soothing the bed head he had.

“Oh,” France? He rested there for another second before moving to look at her. “Where is Alex? Is he okay?” Eager to see his son again, he glanced behind her looking at the door. Strange, that's new. His eyes focused on the familiar picture that showed their first vacation together, hung right across the hall. I thought our wedding picture hung there? She must have put it up recently, Man I’ve really missed a lot. He focused his attention back on Anastasia, who had a look of pure confusion.

“Alex? Who’s Alex?” With a light tilt of her head, she questioned the mysterious person her husband talked about. “Is he a friend of Yours?” She smiled, interested to meet a friend of Oliver.

“No,No love,” He chuckled softly. “Our child, remember? Alex?”

“C-child?” A bright smile overtook her face, “You want kids?” she blushed and giggled. “Well I think that’s a wonderful idea but maybe wait a little longer” She placed her forehead to his, kissing his nose. “Speaking of, where are we going for our honeymoon?”

“H-honeymoon?” Oliver pulled away, “W-what? Where's Alex?”

“Honey Alex doesn't exist, at least not yet” She continued to rub his head. “Are you okay, seriously love our wedding was last week, kids seem a little ambitious”

“Last week, no no baby you must’ve hit your head, Our 7 year anniversary is coming up,” feeling around the bed, he looked for his phone. “Have you seen my..?” Before he could finish Anastasia was holding up his phone. “Ah thank you,” He quickly unlocked it by pulling up the calendar. “See it’s December 18,” pointing to the phone. December 18? Looking back at the phone, just to double check. No, no way, It was November 11 last I checked. Running a hand through his hair letting out a shuddered sigh. What the Hell is going on?

“Maybe you need rest, love,” She got up and assessed him by laying him back down on the bed. “I’ll grab you some medicine,”

“Y-yeah, that sounds amazing,” He nodded, smiling up at her, “thank you,” shifting to get into a more comfortable position, he allowed his body to rest but his mind stayed alert. Where am I, Think Oliver. He stared blankly out the window in the room, How did I get here,

“I’ll be there in a second love,” Anastasai called from the kitchen.

“Alright,” Just this morning, I was knocked out a window and a few years ago my wife Anastasia died along with my son Alex. He looked down at his hands, they shook slightly. But- uh now she stands right in front of me, with no knowledge of our son. Looking up to the sound of footsteps, W-was I kidnapped,

“Here’s the medicine,” Along with her was a tray of his favorite food and a cup of..

“Coffee?” He looked cautious at it. “I uh don’t drink coffee anymore,” staring at the cup which was a deep brown almost black color, “You- You know that Anastasia,” Hesitantly he looked up at her with a forced smile.

“Oh sorry,” Anastasia smiled, it seemed bitter as if he had angered her. “I thought you would remember how I made your hot chocolate, you know with 100% cocoa,” looking down at him, letting out a hiss-like sound.

“O-oh, no… I love this,” He smiled softly, still staring at the cup. It’s been so long since I've had this.

“Oh well, that’s strike one,” Anastasia whispered.

“Wha…” Oliver was met with a wicked smile and a cackle.

“That’s okay, lets just RESTART,” With a yell, a hammer was brought down onto Oliver’s head, knocking him out cold once again.

“Oliver? Oliver? Love, please.”

There's that voice again. Oliver slowly opened his eyes, this time being met with a white ceiling. “W-where am I?” He looked around catching the same gray eyes, ones he could stare into for hours.

“Oh love, are you okay that was quite the fall,” Anastasia ran her hands over his head gently.

“Indeed Mr.Wilson, seems like you have a concussion,” A man in a white coat walked into the room, in his hand he held a simple clipboard but his glasses looked so familiar. “Lucky, You should be out before the gala tonight,” He smiled softly looking at the couple.

“Yeahh, you’ll be able to attend tonight,” Anastasia gently grabbed Oliver's arm in excitement. “Aren’t you excited?”

“G-gala, I-uh-I thought it was our honeymoon?” Oliver continued to look around the room. No, I know she was just talking about our non-existent honeymoon. He focused on the calendar that hung in the corner of the room. April 12… What’s going on?

“Love, our honeymoon was over 2 years ago, remember?” She chuckled softly “We didn’t even go on one,” stopping her hand in his hair, “You might’ve hit your head harder than we thought.” Her grip tightened slightly.

“Y-yeah, maybe,” He moved his hand up to his hair, gently removing her hand. This, this isn’t my Anastasia. He smiled at her, encasing her hand in his. I can feel it.

“Well, we can do one final check up and you should be out of here,” Making his way closer to Oliver, clipboard still in hand. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a set of gloves.

“Oh thank you Doctor,” Anastasia eagerly pounced in her seat. “See honey, that fall wasn’t so bad,”

“W-what exactly happened?” Oliver was still confused on how exactly he got into this situation.

“Oliver, you’re scaring me,” looking up at the doctor, “You, you fell out the window of your office building,”

Window, window? “DAMN IT” as quickly as he could he stood up from the bed. “STAY AWAY FROM ME!” He slowly began backing up towards the room's door.

“Oliver, what is your problem?” Anastasia also stood, confused by his sudden behavior. “D-doctor Kage? What's going on?”

“I don’t know, b-but we gotta get him under control,” Kage pushed Anastasia behind him, protecting her from any movements that Oliver could possibly make.

Kage, Kage? He racked his brain, trying to find where he had heard that name before. “Roger's right hand man,” Oliver whispered, looking at Kage to see any type of reaction. The way Kage’s eyes widened slightly was all the confirmation he needed. “It is you,” Oliver started, eyes wide. “A-anastasi? What are you doing,”

“That’s strike two,” She pushed Kage behind her, facing her husband head on. Her damsel in distress act faded completely. “I’m sorry Olive, but you keep screwing up,” Huffing, she launched herself at him. Aiming to punch him but was quickly blocked by Kage.

“Anastasia, the Plan” He reminded her, gently pushing her back. She turned with a huff, collecting herself. With her back turned, he only saw her hands doing little motions.

“Right, Right.. Of course.” After another deep breath, she turned back around. “My apologies dear, but we need to restart,” One more time, that’s all we can afford.

“W-what does that mean,” Oliver stood ready, “No more of that stupid hammer.” He argued, taking a server of his area, keeping an eye on both Anastasia and Kage.

“Awww but that’s the best part,” She pouted, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes. He hesitated, looking at her face, one she would make anytime she wanted something.

“No.. No more hammer,” Oliver huffed, making his tone stern.

“Fine by me Hero,” The deep gruff voice was all he heard before his jaw was crushed in and he was sent flying into the wall. At impact the wall shattered, crumbling under the sheer force of his body. Oliver stuck in the wall for a moment before falling down to the ground, he wheezed coughing blood. He held himself on his hands and knees, desperately trying to catch his breath. “Oh, still have some fight?” The same voice called before he sent Oliver’s head through the floorboard.

“D-dad, careful with him,” Anastasia kneeled down over Oliver's body, using both hands to lift his head. “Yep he’s unconscious,” She ran her finger to his neck, checking his pulse, “But not dead.”

“Why? He’s just some fake hero scum,” Roger kicked the man’s unconscious foot. “Let his son die and almost lost his wife.” The room's air suddenly turned heavy as Roger realized he had said that out loud.

“Do NOT mention Alex,” Anastasia hissed, aiming the end of her hammer at his head, “ever” Roger put his hands up, sweat running down his neck while he slowly backed away from her.

“I’m sorry,” She lowered her weapon slowly, staring into his eyes.

“Apology Accepted” Her smiling face returned before she skipped towards the door, “Kage, Dad, get Oliver and set up for scene three,” She giggled leaving the two grown men in a cold sweat. Oliver, you got one last chance, please don’t screw up.

“OLIVER, OLIVER I NEED ASSISTANCE!” Sitting up with a start Oliver looked around. He was back in his master room, sitting in the bed. “OLIVER!” He quickly removed the blankets and ran out into the living room. There sat on the ground was Anastasia, cradling a small bundle of pink blanket. “Sorry love, but Beatris is fussing,” She pointed towards the kitchen, “and Alex is out, so could you please grab me her bottle,” He stood there, dumbfounded.

“Uh-” He knew something was wrong, he’d felt like he was in a fever dream. No, No I won’t be fooled again. He smacked himself a couple times, trying to straighten his mind. Is this real or, or just another act? He began to breathe heavily, Do do I fight or. He was having a panic attack, his mind could not decide whether he should fight the woman he loved, or simply continue to live this fantasy. He crumpled to the ground, hyperventilating causing him to see stars. “A-anastasia, Please,” He sobbed, gripping the ground so hard his finger began to bleed. “Please, n-no more game’s, tell me what happened,” smacking his head into the ground repetitively, “WHY *smack* WHY *smack* WHY!” his head was bleeding at this point, it slowly dripped onto the flood. “WHERE DID IT GO WRONG!” He screamed, aiming to slam his head again but he was stopped by two soft hands. Anastasia was now in front of him defending his head from the brutality of the floor. Oliver’s breath hitched, he quickly looked up to meet her eyes. There she sat in all her glory, tears in her eyes as she watched her husband's merciless attack on himself. “You are my Anastasia, I know that now,” allowing his head to rest in her hands. He inhaled deeply, settling his mind for an instant. He had made up his mind.

“I’m sorry, I wanted to make you suffer,” She let out a soft sob, “Suffer like I had to, all these voices kept talking to me.” Anastasia stared at her husband's blood ridden face. “Y-you didn’t save us, a-and” watching as one of his hands came to wipe her tears. “I- I couldn't save him,” Collapsed into his chest. “I WATCHED YOU LEAVE US” she sobbed gripping his shirt. “I HATED YOU BUT YET I STILL LOVED YOU” Anastasia shook with both anger and heartbreak.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I hate myself too,” Oliver held her close. “N-not a second goes by that I don’t regret my whole existence,” He quickly buried his face into her hair. “I-im sorry you had to suffer alone, I’m sorry I was never there,” Oliver let out a soft sigh, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you and I’m sorry I couldn’t save him,” He was heartbroken but yet sitting here with her in his arms made it a little more bearable. He didn’t care if she hated him, wanted him dead, he just wanted her here in his hold. “Hit me, kill me, keep me in this time loop, whatever you want, just please, don’t leave me.”

“No, no more games, I uh I think my play time is up,” Her breath had begun to steady and her sobs had ceased. She gently smiled into his chest, I’m home, home at last. Pulling away from him she gently grabbed his face and brought him into a soft loving kiss. “I love you my Oliver,” She giggled at his small blush. Brushing away any left over tears, before meeting her eyes to his.

“And I love you my beautiful Anastasia” He sighed a content smile taking over his face. Ever since that fire, Oliver only regretted one thing more than not saving Anastasia, and that was allowing her to suffer alone for so long.

“Mama, Is dinner ready?” A child's voice called as the front door shut. His small footsteps were heard running through the house. “Oh dad, you’re home.” Alex ran to join his family in the small huddle on the ground. His small arms could barely wrap around his father so Oliver moved to wrap him in their hug.

“Hi baby, I’m home, Home for good” Oliver kissed his son's head and cradled him close to his chest. Anastasia smiled, enjoying this small moment, knowing many more where to come. Maybe this fantasy life won’t be so bad.

“So she went through with it?” Kage asked, watching as his boss kneeled by the two bodies that laid on the ground. Kage had never seen his boss cry, the big man seemed unbreakable but yet Every man has his, He watched as Roger gently picked up his daughter's limp body, tilting his head and saying a soft prey for the girl he once raised.

“Grab him, we should give them a proper burial,'' gesturing towards Oliver's body, which sat with a peaceful smile on his lips. Roger made his way out of the house still holding his head high even while tears ran down his face, landing on Anastasias’s beneath him. “May you have all you’ve dreamed of” He whispered, lifting her body to lay a gentle kiss to her head. “My beautiful baby girl.”

Things that absolutely send me in fan-fics

CONSENT

Fluff

slow burns

characters that are written true or close to their actual character

smut that isn’t rushed or just pure sex, it got the little things in it as well that make it more passionate 

This is @HopeDiAngelo from Wattpad and @hopediangelo on Insta, the author of Destined fanfic.

I am having a severe block rn. Please request smn so I can get back into writing...... I can write:

Percy Jackson/ Heroes Of Olympus

Harry Potter

MARVEL

Boku No Hero Academia

I can also try JJK and Demon Slayer but I haven't read even a bit of the manga

Or just make a new character according to your needs?

Oh, and, if you are reading this and ship Percico please check out Destined on WP? Or not, no pressure, I mean! UPDATE: So, I had to unpublish by story due to plagiarism. You can message me here(or in WP or Insta) if you really wanna read it...... here is what I wrote in description if you are interested:

Hi. This is my first work ever, therefore, please excuse my sorry butt for being unexperienced. So, here goes nothing:

Nico felt somewhat empty as he walked towards Will Solace after clearing things up with Percy. He still loved him, even though he had just said otherwise. He didn't want things to be cleared up. He wanted to latch himself to even the last bit of hope left. But he was also scared, scared that he might be left with nothing if he put even a little bit more into the hope. Nothing at all.

I do not own any characters unless I say so. They are all owned by Uncle Rick. I also do not own the art in the cover.

Anyways, have a nice day~

𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐑-

yandere!false angel x gn.reader

cw: gore, death, attempted sa (not by yandere)

2.2k; not proofread bc I believe in myself. based on this imagine.

what were you expecting, venturing this far into the woods at night? there's something stalking you from behind the trees. a terrible beast watches and you are powerless to its mercy. luckily, your prayers are answered; not by god, but by the angel covered in red.

The wind was the first thing you noticed. It was still, not even a breeze licked at your skin, nor a sudden chill digging into your bones. Cold, yes, the cold remained even without the slashing wind. The sun dipped farther and farther below the skyline as you walked, taking with it the last remnants of warmth. You tugged your shawl tighter around your form.

Regret began to seep into you. What were you doing in these dark woods? There could be packs of wolves, or bears, or mountain lions, or another predator searching for a meal out there, you being a prime target. A shudder raced down your spine. As terrifying as the thought of being ripped apart by wild creatures was, you were almost certain it would be worse to be caught by him.

You glanced behind you, into the maw of dark trees and snow covered ground from which you came. Threats of what he promised to do to you should you be found echoed through your mind, motivating you to ignore the weariness in your muscles and push forward.

You chided yourself at your predicament- the huntsman seemed so kind. He promised you a warm bed and a meal for the night while you waited out the snow, mentioning how he understood the difficulty of traveling during the winter months. He made good conversation, although he spoke little of himself. You doubted he would present to be a threat towards you. How wrong you were.

Oh yes, he provided a meal and a bed for you, but neither were out of the kindness of his heart. No, apparently there was an expectation that you were going to service him in some way- to which you promptly refused. It was then that his true nature began to reveal itself. The huntsman grabbed one of his weapons, threatening to get his rightful payment since nothing comes for free. He wasn't going to let you leave otherwise.

You were lucky to have made it out of the door. You booked it, running in whatever direction you were facing, which happened to be the thick, untamed forest. He was searching for you, that much you knew. You could hear the howls of his hunting dogs somewhere behind you, sniffing you out.

Panic was starting to set in. What were you going to do? It was cold, you were running out of stamina, and you had no clue where you were or how long it would take to reach another village. These woods seemed to stretch for hundreds of acres, completely uninhabited by people. It was easy to get lost here you imagined, the tall trees melded into each other at some point. You could be going in one big circle for all you knew.

Besides the clearly psychotic man on your trail, the woods itself concerned you. There was a distinct feeling that said you aren't supposed to be here. As if the trees were going to wrap around your limbs and pull you apart on their own. You knew that was unlikely, but still- something in the back of your mind remained aware of the fact that you were bordering territory that would not welcome you. Maybe it was because you recalled the horror stories of people who entered and never came out- or they returned with not all of them attached.

Another howl cut through the air, snapping you out of your rumination. It was much closer this time. Frighteningly close. Close enough that you wouldn't be able to outrun it from where you were. There was only one other choice- hide. You scanned your surroundings, searching for something that would cover you. There was a small clearing up ahead and woods on both sides of you. The trees were too thin, but there were a couple of fallen ones and an uprooted trunk that created an opening just large enough for you to crawl into and hide behind. It would have to work.

You tucked yourself in, heart hammering frantically in your chest. He was so close now that you could hear his boots crunching against the freshly fallen snow. The chuffs of his dogs resounded in your ears like deafening booms, each one ready to rat you out.

"We could've done this the easy way, you know." The huntsman spoke into the silence, voice dripping with malice. Your heart dropped. Did he know you were nearby?

Your hands covered your mouth, trying to prevent yourself from breathing too loud. You could see him now, he was a couple feet ahead of you in the clearing. A large hunting knife glistened in the moonlight. Heavy realization set in, he was going to kill you.

And there was nothing you could do to stop him.

If you ran, one of his dogs would surely chase after you. You had no weapons to fight him with nor the strength to go against his much more well prepared form. The cold sapped at your energy, making it a chore just to keep yourself alert. The adrenaline helped, but it wouldn't last forever.

You did the only thing you could do. Pray.

You clasped your hands together as you waited, shutting your eyes and mouthing pleas to whoever would answer. Even if you had never been one to pray before, the imminent threat of your mortality was enough to make you chant feverishly for mercy.

And an answer you got.

The huntsman paused, shushing his mutts while sticking his nose up to the sky. Then it happened.

It was almost too quick for you to catch- one minute he was standing in the clearing, the next he was dangling above the trees. A white flash of feathers came down upon him, plucking his form like a mouse caught by a vicious hawk. With a powerful beat of the creature's wings he disappeared out of sight, far above the canopy of the trees. His dogs cried out for their master, but even they retreated into the safety of the brush for fear of being snatched.

One long, haunting death screech pierced the once still air for just a few seconds before abruptly quieting. There was barely any time to process what you saw or what had happened when splatters of red rained down from the sky, staining the white snow like paint on a canvas. Something round and fleshy dropped and landed on the snowy floor with a cracking sound, almost similar to a coconut.

You strained your eyes to see what it was.

A... head.

Not long after the creature swooped back down with the remaining parts of the huntsman, holding his corpse up to its mouth like a cat with a large rat. You shifted ever so slightly from your hidden position where you could get a proper look at it while it seemed distracted.

The scene was horrible, but you couldn't stop the awe that crossed your mind as you gazed at it. Two large, white wings speckled with blood emerged from the pale being's back. So pale it was that it practically blended into the snow.

The more you looked, the more you thought it seemed to appear more humanoid than creature, so reminiscent of the angelic sculptures you would see watching over graveyards. From the great wings, to the long white hair, it was nearly exact to how you would picture heaven's inhabitants to appear. Except, they couldn't capture how overwhelming the presence of it was. Utterly magnetic in a way you couldn't describe, a kind of beauty not defined by humanity.

you've been rescued by an angel.

It came right when you called, in your greatest time of need, like it had already been watching. Like a guardian angel.

Distracted by your realization, you didn't notice eyes locking onto your hiding form.

-

He missed one.

Warm blood trailed down his lips, dripping onto the white ground below. A human thing was hiding in the foliage, behind the broken trees.

He focused back on the body in his grasp. So loud and annoying, parading about his territory, hunting his prey. The deer were already scarce this winter, but the human had scared off the remaining few. Other prey were not as abundant. Humans he did not often approach, but everything was fair game in his domain.

He took a bite of the neck, the flesh tearing apart like filled dough. The metallic taste caused his wings to rustle in delight. He almost forgot the tenderness of human meat, rich with fat and underdeveloped muscles from a life of comfort. As of late, there had been less and less willing to enter the deep woods where he roamed, most likely due to what ends up being leftover of those who do.

His attention is drawn back to the one who tried to hide. Amusing, it hasn't run yet. Maybe it knows that it has no chance if it runs, even in the crowded trees his form is lithe enough to maneuver around the branches much better than the human can. It must've thought that the only viable option is to wait for him to finish and leave. Such a plan might've worked, if he was a much less vigilant predator.

The body is dropped onto the snow with a thud, entrails spilling out of the half eaten man. He was in a good mood, not only was the problematic creature dead but he had just gotten a meal along with it. Maybe he would decide to do something else with the remaining one.

Slowly, he turns his head in the human's direction.

-

The angel is approaching you.

It's now crouched, no longer standing on two legs; instead slinking towards you like a cat. You would be terrified by the sight of this massive creature covered in blood targeting you had you not already made up your mind that is must be your guardian angel.

When it is close enough to reach out to you, it pauses. It cocks its head, temporarily parting the hair covering its face to reveal pale, blanched purple eyes. Its- his- face was decidedly masculine, you thought. The wings on his back are folded close to his form, reducing any drag they could've caused.

Your heart is pumping, but this time not out of fear- no, you're enthralled by this opportunity.

The angel opened his mouth, uttering words that made you freeze.

"Be not afraid."

You think your pulse stopped for a solid moment. The voice was somehow quiet, yet cold and not quite reassuring. It surprised you that he could even speak in the first place. The smell of metallic blood and pine was noticeable. You reach out shakily, just slightly touching his hair. Your fingers meet the white threads, long and thin, like spider webs. The creature flinched in surprise at your boldness, but didn't move away.

The question tumbled out of your mouth before you could regret saying it. "Are you... are you my guardian angel?"

The angel fixed you with an unreadable expression. You thought he was confused for a second, before he stood up to his full height, no longer face to face with your form curled up in the branches. You couldn't help the raw unease that came to you then, he must've been nearly twice your height, taller than any man you had ever seen.

"Angel?" it repeated, looking down at you. "Your angel?"

Your mouth felt dry. The wind started picking up again, gliding through his feathers and into your bones. There were two options being presented to you; either you were right, and this being was an angel, or you were wrong. You didn't want to imagine what was standing before you if you were wrong, especially not after witnessing what became of the huntsman.

He seemed to consider this, staring down at you with strange intensity. His eyes were once again covered by hair, making his expression even more difficult to decipher.

A tense few moments passed before he spoke again. "Would an angel show you mercy? Lead you out of the woods to run back home?"

You nodded your head, still not daring to move. He bends down to pet your head, lips curling up subtly at your reaction.

True to his word, the angel did lead you out of the forest- although you lagged behind significantly and weren't nearly as swift navigating through it. It was a wonder how something so large moved as fast as he did. You were beyond grateful, thanking whatever higher power had listened to you. It was unlikely you would've made it out yourself, even with the huntsman gone. The woods were not friendly to outsiders.

You didn't say a word as you followed, too busy keeping up to ask any more questions. Tiredness overcame you as well now that your survival mode was beginning to wear off, leaving you sluggish and inattentive.

When you reached the treeline outside of the huntsman's cabin, you looked back up at your savior to thank him, only to be met with nothing but the breeze.

"Thank you." You whispered, regardless of whether or not you would be heard. The thought of your experience being a trauma induced hallucination crossed your mind, one you would consider if it wasn't for the fact that there was a large white feather caught by a tree limb beside you.

It was now almost morning. The sun was preparing to rise over the horizon soon.

You trekked your way back home, unaware of the new pair of eyes following you from the sky.

Ira ꈊ⁠ the vessel [oc]

there's an entity in his skin. it likes your skin better though, maybe a bit... too much.

Random kiss attack on lorne hehehe

kiss on YOU

imagine reader combing or braiding lorne's hair (//∇//)

two hours of braiding later...

LORNEE AHHHH HIS WINGS I CANT I LOVE THEM, I believe that because he is an imitation of an angel mayhaps they are softer than an actual angel because well.. He hasn’t felt an actual angels wings

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH PLEASE LET ME COCOON MYSELF IN THOSE GLORIOUS WINGS

mayhaps you are right...

neither he nor you know any better, so to your knowledge they might as well be. (and if lorne has any say in it, you'll never meet a real angel)

touching his wings would be similar to caressing the small of someone's back; a very intimate gesture reserved for certain people. In the beginning, he might flinch away or grow upset if you attempted to touch him there (such displays of vulnerability are unfamiliar and his immediate reaction to that is lashing out), but as time goes on and he begins to see you as "that certain person" it'll become like second nature to want to rub them against you. Should you find yourself in the rain, or in need of extra warmth, or just want to lay your head against something, your first option will be feathers stretched over you or wrapped around your form.

he'll conveniently leave out what level of intimacy this means you two must share; as far as you know, it's just a friendly gesture from the being that watches over you. an angel wouldn't ever lie to you, right?

what abt reader creating a long cardigan for your angel-like oc, because they don't want him/them to be cold!! You can make this the same reader who baked for the oc

i hope ur okay with a sketch I feel like this sums it up better than what I could write :')

yandere!eldritch horror moves into the apartment next door and you're not okay with it.

He's an absolutely terrible neighbor. You see people enter his apartment every night, but you never see them leave the morning after. Must be drunk hookups, right? You don't know, and you don't care, but there are weird nightly noises coming from his place, and his face is a strange dark blur that you have trouble picturing, and you swear there's a sour smell wafting out from under his door.

Every time you try to talk to him about keeping it down or getting rid of that God awful stench, you're suddenly afflicted with a piercing headache... ugh, what were you even going to say again? You can't remember, but the way he's looking at you with wide blue... no, brown eyes and a grin stretched sickeningly far makes you think you should leave it.

While you’re busy figuring out how to get him evicted, the abomination dwelling on the other side of your paper thin walls gets the idea that you're trying to ask him out.

You approach him so often, you must like him, right? He's giddy just imagining it. Yeah, you come up to him with a grimace, but then you catch his eye and a forced smile takes its place. You haven't asked him to be yours yet because you're shy (he understands humans so well!).

No worries! He doesn't have an issue initiating. The meat sack he wears may not be the most convincing (he's inexperienced, just recently escaped into human society), but you'll be impressed by his real form for sure. All of the members of his old cult praised him for it, after all.

Many eyes to watch you with. Many limbs to touch you with. Many teeth to devour the flesh of your enemies with. What more could you possibly want?

Back then the cultists were so enamored with the lumbering heap of distorted skin and bone he possessed, feeding his ravenous hunger until he was quelled. He hated what he was to them, hated what they made him into. They search for their missing idol, but he makes sure they never make it back to utter a word of his new identity.

He moved in after leaving the cult that created him, quickly coming up with a flimsy human adjacent shell to not raise suspicion. Having mind altering abilities also comes in handy, too- no one but you seems to pay any mind to his existence in your run down complex.

Now that he has you, nothing will ever drag him back to their clutches. Being treated like an otherworldly god has nothing on the way you make him feel when you ask what the hell is rotting in his apartment ♡

and when I looked into your eyes, i saw the true nature of divinity.

(alt version under cut)

i like fishy that look like... little freak ♡

thinking about a yandere!creature who deceptively looks angelic pretending to be your guardian angel after you mistake him for one.

𝙻𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎 is an anomaly to his kind due to his unnatural white hair and wings, a disadvantage to night stalkers who aim to hide in the shadows. Ostracization from an already elusive species of winged beasts has led him to grow resentful, a seed of vitriolic bitterness slithering its way through him like a poison. A violent demeanor bestows him, slaughtering mercilessly to find retribution for his ghastly appearance, a trait he sees as his ultimate flaw.

Until he meets you; a human who's never seen such a beautiful creature. There was something hypnotizing about him, cold and blazing like the moon that commands the tides. The first words he whispers towards you, Be not afraid, cements the idea that an angel has truly come upon you.

Instead of disgust at his abnormality, you show him a kindness he has never known from his own. You invite him into your home with veneration, share stories of your life, ask him if he's there to watch over you. When you look up at him with those eyes full of naive faith, trusting him so sincerely, he finds maybe he can play along.

Yes, he'll take care of those townspeople who have been bothering you. Watchful eyes following you in the dark become your new norm.

He'll never admit that he's not from heaven. He won't tell you that he's never met your God. May you never know the blood he has spilled to spite his wretched existence. He'll keep up the lie as long as he gets to be your guardian angel, as long as you see him as the light in your life.

With you his flesh feels less cursed, with you he feels sacred.

After all, what is an angel without a god?

Omg, I love your angel oc! Could you perhaps write a drabble about him and an s/o who bakes and makes sweets, that also has an equally sweet personality? Thanks a bunch!

thank!!

He wouldn't really understand your hobby. He gets the basic concept of cooking, but the more complex process of gathering different ingredients, prepping them, and then coagulating them until they've forfeited most of their original properties is lost on him. He would rather just eat your neighbor, but if you really insisted he'd try something you make.

𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

yandere!angel(?)oc x gn.reader

cw: animal death

Heat was drifting throughout your home. A modest fire crackled pleasantly, the ceaseless sound carrying with it the scent of warm sugar and vanilla. One look at the pastries told you they were goldening nicely in the flames, crisp dough rising until it was bloated from the hot air inside of it. Only a few minutes; then they would be ready.

Clicking on glass stole your attention from the dishes in your hands. The window, left uncovered to the vast woodland bordering it, was the source of the interruption. Without turning your head to look, a smile drew across your face. You knew who your visitor was.

Shuffling out of your humble kitchen and towards the window, you spied flashes of white feathers and an inhumanly tall form bending down to peer inside. Your heart beat increased, not out of fear, but excitement to present your gift for the creature- the angel.

The window creaks open as you unlock it, letting the cool evening breeze whistle through your hair and drag the sugary scent out with it.

"Hello!" you chirped, a giddy tone resonating in your greeting. The being looked down at you with a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You turned towards the kitchen again, "One moment!" you called, hurrying to fetch the baked sweets before the fire chars them. They came out steaming, sweet light whiffs that had been permeating your home hit you at full force once they came out.

It was a simple treat, sugary cookies that you had perfected. No one had ever said they disliked them.

There you were at the window again, hot tray in hand. The angel waited patiently beyond your walls for your return. Long ivory hair draped over his eyes and cascaded down his shoulders like a waterfall, so pale it seemed to reflect light even in the presence of the falling sun. He seemed to only ever visit you at night, when the light fades into nothing but the soft glow of the moon.

You presented the cookies to him, placing the tray on your window sill.

"An offering?" He quietly asked, smooth voice tinged with the hint of an accent you couldn't quite place. Though you nodded at his inquiry, he made no effort to take one.

You picked one up off the tray, taking a nibble of it in what you hoped to be a reassuring way. "They're sweet, see? I made them myself."

You practically shoved one towards him, wide doe eyes encompassing the look of a kicked puppy. "I wanted to find a small way to thank you," you mumbled genuinely. It was true- ever since you met him, life had started looking up for you. It was little things, you were rarely ever harassed anymore and people you disliked never came upon you again. You had no doubt it was the work of your guardian angel.

He stared at you through the wisps of white hair covering his eyes for a few moments longer. Then, slowly, he reached to pick one up, two long fingers pinching the treat between them.

You caught a glance of spired, bladelike teeth before he swallowed. You never questioned why an angel would have such a trait.

"How was it?" you inquired, beaming for a reaction.

His face, as far as you could tell, was blank. However, the magnificent pair of bone white wings behind him shuddered ever so slightly.

"Different."

You would take that.

The next morning, you awoke to the thick, metallic scent of rot. You searched for the origin of the putrid fumes, worried that you had left something out, when you had found it. A present was left for you on your doorstep; the corpse of a freshly deceased fawn, its head snapped to look in your direction. The wide eyed stare frozen onto its face held an unspoken warning.

An offering, for an offering.

the hunting angel, lorne [oc]

he's no angel in the biblical sense, but for you he can pretend.

Ok, before I actually sleep, imma show ya'll my potential yandere ocs that I will write about. So, it's like a check list/sneak peak/oc to do list hehe

Yandere!Multiverse traveler 🟪

Yandere!outlaw 🟪

Yandere!DILF (early retired soldier) 🟪

Yandere!werewolf 🟪

Yandere!Vulture hybrid 🟪

and to be added more <3

↓ Symbols ↓

🟪 — Brainstorming

🟣 — Writing

💜 — Posted!

Yan!grim reaper x reckless GN reader

Contains: Car accident mentions, horror elements ish, basic yandere shenanigans, not plotted properly so may or may not have plot holes

People wondered if your luck ever runs out. After buying that silly red eye necklace from your local thrifting clothing store, things aren't as painful than before.

First it was a papercut— Which with your own eyes, watched it heal in real time.

Then, it was a knife to the finger, yet it seemed as if the blade missed its chance to even get to your finger. That's odd, you swore you felt a sting.

And as more mishaps circulate from injury to another,

you were involved with a car accident. It was a hit and run— The man left you while you lie there bleeding. Yet, your eyes opened to see a hospital ward. You survived, miraculously. And the news on the TV tells about the man who ditched the accident scene, ended up dying from another car accident.

Something's feels off now. After that mysterious necklace wrapped around your neck, it is as if death wasn't at your throat.

You were dispatched from the hospital after a few months of healing and tests. You can't seemed to piece things together. Doctors and nurses either get sick or passed away in their sleep days after they showed an interest of you for a platonic connection. Was that a coincidence? Or something is happening, because of this necklace?

Maybe it's your mind playing tricks. As you walk back home, you squint your eyes to see some sort of hooded figure at the distance; opposite to the road.

He looked at you, eyes all red with no irises as he let out a sinister smile,

“My soul, wrapped around your neck,” he seemed to chuckle, “What a beautiful way to propose, my life.”

A car drove in front of the figure. And when the car's gone, so was he.

Maybe the hospital should stop giving you that healing mocktail. Or so you thought that figure was from your imagination.

Being in a relationship with your schools local nightmare bully/trouble maker while being a member of the student council is not easy.

You can't count how many times you had to drag him to detention by his ear after catching him smoking cigarettes behind school, how many times you watch him at the nurse's when she was treating him after a fight, how many times you pretended to be mad at him when he got in trouble again....

Just like you can't count how many times you've heard a knock on your window late at night, only to get up, open the curtains, and see him with a bouquet of flowers mumbling through the closed window about 'how you should hurry up and open it for him because he will freeze into a fucking ice cube soon!..'

How he spends the whole night with you, watching your favorite movies, doing those 'stupid and gross' face masks with you, how he lets you take silly pictures of him and threatens to "rip your head off" if you show them to anyone!! You both know he would never do that

Oh, and how he kisses you on the forehead every time you go to bed after spending the whole night together... And how he runs away quickly in the morning before you even wake up, to start causing trouble in school again so he can come to you at night and apologize <33

Everything he did showed how much he loved you, right? This is what love looks like?

At least that's what you thought....But then you heard all the things he said about you to his friends when they asked about you.

"Ew? Why would you even suggest something like that, man. I would never go out with them even if you paid me.... Not only a teacher's pet, but also ugly as hell... I feel sorry for anyone who has to look at their face longer than a few hours in school."

Is what you share really love?...

Reblogs appreciated <33

Main Masterlist Victors masterlist

Victor "Vick" Baylor - trouble maker

Secret relationship with Vi is not always easy, he is stubborn and easily annoyed.... But no matter what, he always comes back to you and apologizes for his mistakes. But can you forgive him after hearing what he says about you to his friends?

Victors masterlist:

• Outline of his story (x reader)

Main masterlist

Rockstar x stalker reader???1?1?1

TW: bad English (tell me if you spot a mistake!!!)

Rockstar who sees you on every single fan meetup, always taking pictures with him and telling him how much you love his work

You always tell him you already own every single new album he released, every single merch and everything else thats asosieted w him

He also sees you on his concerts, always in the 'vip members' part of the event

Sometimes he wonders how much money you spend on him

Rockstar who stops calling you his fan and starts calling you by your name cuz "youre always here, might as well treat you as a crew member"

Rockstar who geniusly start letting you in behind the scenes... You just love him so much! Always spending so much money on the concert tickets! You deserve something for all the support!

Rockstar who stsrts seeing you outside of his public life! You like the same movies,drinks, snacks... everything! How could he not want to be friends with you??? He just needs to take you for a walk after a concert or fan meetup

Rockstar who starts getting freaked out seeing gifts and plushies and other stuff outside his door every morning.... Hes fans dont know where he lives... You dont to (at least thats what he thinks)

Oh how happy he was when you offered to give him your number when he told you whats happening <33 now he can call you when hes felling like someones watching him

Then he starts to get wierd messages on every single account on every single platform that has his number attached to it.... (Hes just so dumb 😔)

Rockstar going thru those messages only to find pictures of his house.... Terrified calls you to ask if he can stay with you until he doesnt find out whos stalking him!!!

Rockstar who doesnt know youre not planning to let him leave your house ever again

Lmao Im back ig :33 prob nobodys gonna see this but atleast I had fun writing this <333

Immortal who's seen too much and his dumb little mortal human <3

Immortal god who, along with other gods and goddesses, created the earth and everything living on it

Immortal god who saw humans slowly building a society. Starting from small shelters located in caves to houses built from materials they obtained themselves.

Immortal god who was fascinated by how people develop their survival skills. Watching them fail, lern from their mistakes and then try again.

Immortal god who loved when humans prayed to gods. Watched them and listened to their prayers and sometimes even giving them what they wanted

Immortal god who watched humans tell stories about their creators. How gods gave them everything and they should alweys listen to them.

Immortal god who promises humans to alweys help them when they need him, under one condition. They need to live in peace. No war,conflicts... No nothing!

Immortal god who lives happy among his humans, having everything he always wanted...

Immortal god who watches his human betray each other, starting wars and other violent acts...

Immortal god who leaves humans to fight... They didnt listen... Why should he listen to their prayers?

Immortal god who starts watching humans again after the war ends... He wont let them see him... Wont let himself help them again. He just watches

Immortal god who sees humans become shelfish creatures after the war. Only caring about themselfs

Immortal god who notices one of the humans still praying to him... This one is not angry, selfish and destructive... This one is difrent. Pure.

Immortal god who listens to this one pure human tell sories about him to other hunans. Even when others dont listen this one still prays to him. Every day.

Immortal god who finds his new obsession to be this one pure mortal human

This is so bad HELP. I just wanted to try writing.... Prob gonna make a "x reader" out of this lmao

Project SS

a/n: This is my first 100 series and I’ve had it in mind for a while. I haven’t read the books and there gonna be a few canon divergences. But I hope y’all enjoy.

Word Count : 1.7k

Series Trigger Warnings: Mentioned S/A on another character, depression, self-harm, anxiety, experimentation on children, abusing relationships, murder, blood, gore, unwilling amputations?

Chapter One

It was cold.

Too cold, my cell was at the furthest ends of the ark. Complete solitary confinement was where I’d been forced to stay. As I laid on the cold ground of the cell I stared up at the ceiling. 

The once dull piece of shrapnel had been sharpened. I’d long since carved out the constellations onto the roof. I gently traced the small scars left in my left arm and wrist, the blade I’d made still hadn’t been taken from me.

Maybe that dickhead of a Chancellor wanted me to slit my wrist. Let Kane find me bathing in pools of my own blood, it would free him of his mistakes. As I twirls the blade in my hands it nicked at the skin of my hands. 

It didn’t hurt anymore, nothing really did. 

Soft vibrations echoed down my hall as I sat up. I shoved the knife into my boot and pull down my sleeve. As I rolled my shoulders back the door slammed open. The outside worlds was filled with screams of the other teen prisoners.

His footsteps entered slowly as he knelt in front of me. I kept my eyes closed as I listened to the clocking of the guards guns and all the chains they brought in.

“Hey firecracker,” Kane paused as he knelt in front of me. I sighed softly as I held my arms up, ready to be covered in chains. After a few moments he grabs my arms and looks at my wrist.

I would imagine this hurt him, honestly I wasn’t sure. He was my father but I’d never felt connected to him. Maybe it was because I was raised in the lab and closed off sector. Maybe it was because Alice had sold me away. Maybe because I knew he couldn’t love me.

He pressed his forehead to my wrists, I could feel a tear of two slip from his eyes. Pity must have covered my face as the guards slowly began to covered me in chains. 

After I was practically dress in silver he motioned for them to pause before placing the mask over my face. He pulled me in close, his arms around me. I froze, my muscles tensed up. He placed a kiss to my temple as he gave me a final squeeze. 

“I love you.”

I was hauled to my feet before I could speak and a muzzle was placed on my mouth. I tried to pull away, fight them off but these guards held my chains firmly. They were weighting me down but I was stronger than this. 

I should be able to break each and every chain but…. I’m tired. So tired. I look back at him, my eyes pleading for him to understand. He’s familiar to me at least, I know when he’s mad or happy. I know his ticks and quirks by heart.

“I love you too dad.”

I’m pulled further and further away from him. I’m pained into a shuttle with all the other 100, their eyes all fall upon me as I’m chains to my seat. I internally grown as they pull the needle filled with a sleep drug. 

I glare up at the guard about to inject me. Does he even know where my vein in, his hands are quivering. I rolled my eyes as the shuttle moves slightly and the guard practically runs away. 

I huff softly as I lean back against the seat. I can hear everyone else being to whisper.  My god I’m tired of this shit.

“Isn’t that the girl who killed twenty guards by herself?”

“I heard she has a metal leg.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as they carried in the very much unconscious Clarke. I chuckled softly as Wells turned to his ex best friend. 

As the shuttle began to drop down shaking Clarke awoke and began to yell at Wells. I quickly began to rip her chains off. Each hitting the ground with a thud.

As the Chancellor’s video came on I ignored it happily. His words meant nothing to me now. He’d failed in every way to me, he was no Chancellor. He was a coward.

“Y/n? Is that you?” Clarke’z confused voice cause the e/c eyes girl to pause. Slowly I moved her gaze to the blonde.

“Who else would they cover in chains?” Clarke didn’t answer as with shoulder length broth hair began to float around.

“Stay in your seats!” Clarke yelled as the shuttle when further down. I had finally ripped all the chains off her body. I looked at Clarke and she was motioning towards the floating boy in front of her.

I shock my head content to remain in the safety of my own chair. She glared at me giving me a look I knew nothing good would come of. 

With a puff of air I undid the buckle and pulled the glove off my right hand. My arm shot up grasping the back of him. The metal of my arm shined softly in the dimly lit shuttle.

“She said stay in your seats.” I growled softly as I pulled him down. The shuttle jerked up and grasped into a bar as we began to fall. 

I held tightly onto him as I heard Clarke yell, “Finn! Y/n are you okay!”

I groaned as we began to fall helplessly towards the ground. As everyone begins to yell and scream I just focus  on holding onto this stupid boy. 

The shuttle jerks again and I’m thrown into a wall hitting a few pipes. My vision becomes hazy as I feel blood drip down the side of my face. The corners of my eyes slowly fade into black as my vision is completely blurred.

……….

I feel a pair of small hands shaking my body roughly. I shot up pushing the person away as my vision returns. 

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” I looked at Clarke her eyes full of relief. She ran to me, bombarding me in a tight hug. 

“I was worried.” I let her pull away my arms still at my sides. I hummed softly as I pulled myself away from her. The commotion bellow is caught her attention as she pulled me down. As she climbed down as just jumped. 

I parted the crowds for her as she walked behind me. I helped push her forward with my metal arm. The others around me pull away in fear.

They thought a metal leg was cool why isn’t my arm cool.

“The air could be toxic!” Clarke urged.

“If the air is toxic, we’re all dead anyway.” The older boy at the front voiced. I stared at him tilting my head slightly. He stared back at me then lowered his gaze to my arm.

“Bellamy?” The crowds parted as a brunette girl climbed down and looked at him. 

He turned his gaze to her his eyes becoming full of emotions. He stared down at her smiling softly. 

“My god, look how big you are.” The girl engulfed him into a hug as she breathed in deeply. I sighed softly and moved over to the panel. It was jammed and wouldn’t open the doors anymore.

“What the hell are you wearing, a guards uniform?”

“I borrowed it to get in the drop ship. Someone’s got to keep an eyes on you.” He answered. 

“Where’s your wrist band?” I heard Clarke ask as I began to try and fix the stupid panel.

“Do you mind? I haven’t seen my brother in a year.” I froze at this and turned to the pair.

“No one had a brother.”

“That’s Octavia Blake, the girl they found hidden in the floor.”

Octavia jerked forward going to attack whoever had spoken. Bellamy quickly gasped into her holding tightly to her. 

“Octavia, Octavia no. Let’s give them something else to remember you by.” He tried to calm her. The fire was not lost in her eyes as she pulled herself from his grip.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like being the first person on the ground in a hundred years.” He answered with a smile. I watched Octavia’s face brighten at the notion. I watched as Clarke’s eyes fell as he moved over to me. 

“It won’t open.” His eyes darted to me.

“What do you mean it won’t open?”

“The panels fucked.” He moved me out of the way to try the panel himself. 

“You’d need a shit ton of force to open those doors up.” I pause for a moment. “Lucky for you, I hate confined spaces.”

He stared at me, his dark eyes holding mine. I glared up at him as his lips curled into a smirk. I moved away from him approaching the door. I rolled my shoulder, my arm flexing against each metal part.

I slammed my fist forwards, the cool metal of my hand hitting the hot door. It flung towards the ground as people backed away gasping. 

Light hit our faces as a breeze pushed against us. I averted my eyes, the light all too bright. I moved out of Octavia’s way with a nod.

“All yours sunshine.” I mumble as she stared at me. I watched as her brother’s eyes trailed me and try then her. She took in a long breath before exhaling deeply. Her feet slowly moved forward against the metal door on the ground. 

After a moment she jumped down, her boots hitting the firm soil. She took a few more steps as I stared out at the trees. They were lush and green all over. They were nothing like I’d ever seen before.

My eyes drifted till I found Bellamy’s eyes on me. I blinked a few times unsure as to why he was staring at me. In his eyes they held a looked I’d never been given.

“WE’RE BACK BITCHES!” Octavia yelled as the others cheered. Bellamy’s eyes left me and retired to his sister as he laughed. 

All around me the others pushed forwards onto the ground in front of us. I simple stared at them all as they left cheering. After a moment when all were gone I followed. 

I left’s my boots hit the ground. I dug them into the soil as I bent down. My fingers traced the top of the grass around us. It pounced my fingertips gently. I let out a breathless chuckle as I grabbed a handful of dirt.

It crumbled in between the cracks of my hand. I brought it to my nose, breathing in the earth scent deeply. I let out a long breath as I stare out. 

Humans were finally back home. 

so like ive never written smut and my writing is way different than any ive seen so i did some practice. and i expect feedback. 🧍‍♀️plus this isn’t about sm1 specific imagine it as you like

warnings(?): some pwp for the fuck of it, suggestive, sadomasochism, knife kink :3c, just a little sumsum

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cold. so cold.

shivers down your spine making you feel like a scared cat, if you could focus on that look on her face you’d think you also look like one.

a half smile, bent brows, so many emotions flowing in and out the current of your faces right in front of each other.

eyes don’t meet, lips don’t speak, breathing unmatched and trembling feet.

sound of clothes ripping interrupt the heavy breathing and unstoppable thinking

“you’re doing so good,” all in one sigh

no matter how wide your eyes are, you cannot see anything anywhere, yet she can see everything, even if you’re not speaking, she can hear every thought and choked word.

eyes on the hand

that hand that holds the knife

face flushed, legs weak, but you’re already laying down, how much lower can you go?

your hands gripping on your skirt are more prone to bleeding than your knife-teased neck

“do you not have trust in me?”

those eyes, so soft-bent, so shiny. you know they’re not sincere, their shine matches the knives and they look like they can break you.

Aphla_Werewolf_[Lucas]_×_male_reader_

Good boy~

《Previous ▪︎•°|°•▪︎ Masterlist ▪︎•°|°•▪︎ Next (not yet complete)》

</T|W> slight dub-con or no explicitly stated consent, senting, a/b/o style rut, edging, riding, multiple rounds, depiction of slight injuries, and thier healing.

</C|W> Smutt this time :p, bottom oc werewolf, top amab reader,

Lucas had come in with a dislocated shoulder and some nasty scrapes. Come to think of it, a lot of the wolves had been showing up with these kind of scuff marks.

You didn't really ask. Just patched them up, but if someone would know and wouldn't care that, it's you asking. It would be Lucas.

As you lifted his wrist, warned him of the pain, with a flat palm against his collar bone just over the dislocated socket. A quick shove and slight twist of his wrist had the joint back in place if a little sore.

His breath hitches with the movement, and he holds onto the coat you use with treating wounds. His hands cramping as he grips onto the stained fabric, holding you there to ride out the pain with his forehead resting gently on your sternim. The puffing breaths shifted the loose shirt under him while you ready the disinfectant over his shoulder.

That's another thing the wolves have taken to. Touch.

Any of the 'pack' as you call them would negate any distance and practically beg you for some form of skin contact. You weren't sure why, but you knew that's how familial relationships are stabilized.

Lucas was the only one to hold on. Or hold you there. Every other wolf would just brush up against you and then let you step back.

"You know."

He looked up at you, his chin resting on your sternum. Eyes looking a little to dilated for the adrenaline drop he should be in now.

"I've seen your groupies more often this week."

"Sorry." His arms wind tighter round ypur waist. Not even pouting about the name-calling. "Lots of the pups are going through the 'fight for my mate' phase of growing up."

"Thought that was just a wives tail."

"Nope very real."

"And they need some big strong Alpha to break it up?"

This odd rumble vibrates against your chest. It's almost enough to distract you from patching his spine up.

"I'm more to stop the ones that go past just play fighting."

"I need to clean your neck. And well, the other cuts." You pause when those same dark eyes flicker up to you. Clearly, you weren't clear enough.

"You need to move, so I can help you."

"Help sounds nice."

"Yes so move"

Lucas only shuffles back, unlooping his arms but still holding on to you. Forcing you to kneel down so you could actually clean and tape the wounds he came here for.

Those ink filled eyes still stare as you start on the cuts along his ribs and chest. Hardly flinching when the antiseptic cuts through the dried blood, and you have to push against him to stop the renewed bleeding. His pupils almost seem blown, and the scientist in you wonders if this fight for a mate actually releases a hormorn that keeps his eyes like that.

It's almost like he's looking at the prize of the fights that's been happening. Well, you haven't seen any of the disputes, displays, whatever they really are. So you can speculate their use.

"All done," with a pat to his chest, to pull his attention back from the dazed look he has. "Anything else? Or are there more."

"I don't know. I don't think you're done."

"What? Did I miss anything?"

"Yeah,"

Lucas smirks, leaning back on his hands. Shirt right there at the end of the table, but he refuses to put it on.

"I need a kiss to make it better"

Red flushes all through your neck and up your ears, eyes going wide. This was just a joke right?

But you leaned down, hovering just a breath from him. It was almost serene. Just standing there in the cold open room, this thick emotion hanging off the air between you and him.

Lucas was the one to break the quiet moment.

The split skin of his lip was near sharp as he kissed you, just a soft press at first. But then you lean up against him. Feeling every breath he took with the rise or fall of his chest against yours. His skin radiating heat like a furnace.

Those ruff hands gliding up, under your work coat to trace your jaw and settle along your neck. That same rumbling noise vibrating agaisnt you as he growls.

Some wolves can growl as a sign of playfulness, a fake growl for lack of a better term. It's more a tease or verbal invite to play. And he keeps growling as he pulls you impossibly closer. Arching up into you, just to grumble louder.

The old and ratty matris you use for the more hurt patients, bending under your weight. Lucas opens his eyes to stare at you with a golden ring, elipsing lust blown pupils. Fangs nip ever so softly over your lips and toungs, with soothing kisses placed after the harder nicks.

Must be the full moon looming to rise at the end of the week, amoslt two days of hyper wolves apparently now fighting to prove their love.

As if sensing your distraction, Lucas hauls you up, dropping you beneath him. Those ruff hands are still tracing any link to skin it can find along any gap between your waist and shirt. Happily feeling over the scars he watched you patch up. Panting down your throat between taking your breath away with each searing kiss.

Straddling your thighs, striping your jacket, and shirt with rushed movements. Leading your own hands to his skin, begging in all but words for you to touch. Careful of the buises, you hear those playful growls start up. Now you can feel it vibrate in his chest against yours.

The air around you in this old place warming with each brush of hands, or roll of hips. It's burning this feeling of lust deeper into your soul than you thought would still be possible.

He's careful of the claws dawning his fingers when tracing the skin under your belt. Easily catching on the fabric and forcing you to detangle him from it.

When you've both shed the last layers, you start to realize why his pack mates jokingly call him Alpha.

All it takes is one slip of your fingers over his waist, against his spine, and he's practically presenting for you. Back dropping down so he could roll his ass back into your hands.

"Please."

Lucas laps his ruff tongue over your throat. Chasing the beating pulse thundering away under it, a thick fur scratching at your thighs.

Seems he's partially shifted. Ears replaced by his canine form, tail flopping over your knuckles as you need the muscle under it. But..

There was this. Fairy tail, of sorts.

It was some girl who would brag about her partners in bed. But if what she says is true.

"Hmm, that feels good."

Bingo.

"You're very good at this."

His tail does wag when complemented. Good to know.

It's just the simple sway the end, but maybe.

There's a simple lubricant in the top draw, and an audible thumping follows your breach of him. It's almost distracting, but none the less adorable.

With your dick now fucking up into him, rendering his mind completely blank besides those breathless little noises that he can't seem to keep in.

All it takes is him rolling his hips back into you for it to finally gain a rhythm. And for you to say,

"Fuck. You feel amazing."

The sudden moan and long whimper had almost worried you, and yet he clamped up like a vice. His dick jumping in time with his heart rate so, so close.

One hand on his throat, and the other rubbing along the base of his tail, you methodically take him apart. Finding every spot that makes his gasp, every angle that makes his back draw tight or mouth hang open, every place to scratch raised red marks, suck darling bruises. All of it.

You keep him lost in the pleasure but never enough to cum, even when hes close its easy to pull at his hair, scratch at his hips, to keep him feeling good. But not enough.

Right when you know you have him on the edge, right when you know he's desperate enough to listen.

"Good boy"

Lucas practically locks up. His orgasm rushed through him without any warning, his own cum dripping past his jaw and neck. Breath ragged, although he can't be to worn out.

As his tail still thumps against the inside of your thigh. Eyes practically glazed over before he started moving again.

"Just like that." You comand into his ear, watching it flick with the ghost of your breath against it, "good boy~"

All I can imagine is a reader who lives in a continent full of monsters.

One of the only humans there, or well. Human adjacent.

You make some of your money by being a health care worker for the monsters here, not a healer per say but the closest thing to one any of them can get. You're the go-to for cuts, scrapes, bruises, and dislocated limbs. Even for the more, not human side of the residents.

There's nowhere else to go. It's you or deal with it alone.

You learn their stories, or their scars, even the trauma they have to carry. Like the deep forest Naga, whose flares dull when the clouds start to gather. Or the lycanthop who couwers at any loud sound. You are the only one the youkai trusted to help.

That's not the only way you make your money to keep the medical office stocked.

Many of the creatures or monsters can "shed" certain parts. Like the vampire's teeth, they shed those fangs neat yearly, or the avians, the false angles, who mault. But other times, when things like corpses or amputations are a must to hold. You can use those parts, too.

What did those human rulers who exiled you expect?

That a mortician would just be happy to sit down and watch the people around them fumble with basic injuries and watch those small little cuts fester and rot, let alone the major injuries that come about.

You had a fucking medical and veterinary doctorate so you where going to use it.

If that means dismantling the dead or selling off the things you don't keep for study or as trinkets to keep that medical practice open?

Then gladly.

Varai short stories // NSFW

CONTENT WARNINGS // NSFW, Scent kink, Breeding kink, cunnilingus, anal sex and Dacryphilia, implies multiple orgasms at some point, praise and degrading too// Female and male catered :3 // do these count as drabbles??? Ermmm

Female reader // Breeding kink, cunnilingus, and praise (Scroll down for Male reader )

192 words))

Varai, who's fucking you into the bed, a punishing pace set by your hips. Each time he rolls his hips against yours, he pushes against your G-spot, pulling moans from you. His cock is ruthlessly beating on your insides, all the more making you soaking wet. Your thighs quivered around his waist, and he brushes a hand over your stomach. " Would be nice.. if you had a baby, " He trails down and pat the end of your stomach. " ..Growing all in here. Swollen with my children. M'gonna make you full with my cum. " He growls, fingers digging into your hips as he thought for a moment, mind clouded by pleasure. " Fuck, I'm gonna breed you, bitch. It's what your body was made for. " He drawls, hips stuttering slightly as he began moving sloppily, head tilting back. You had no idea how many times you came already but your legs tightened weakly around him, urging him to cum. And he did - painting your walls white with his thick seed, filling your puffy pussy up. " Such a good girl. " He coos, thumbs rubbing your hips. You gave him a slight nod, absolutely fucked out.

(265 words)

Varai, who's positioned between your legs, looking up at you as you pull his long locks of hair, his mouth lapping at the lips of your wet sex. His mouth switches from teasing your folds to sucking gently on your clit, making you praise him. " You're doing s'good.. " You hear only a grunt and feel a puff of air on your clit, which was already swollen and sensitive from before. He shifts in his spot, obviously trying to have the best angle; he wanted to please you, so he tried. " You taste so good. " he panted, eyes lidded as he went back to working on your dripping cunt. He moved his arm to put his hand near your hole, slowly pushing a finger in while still sucking on your enlarged clit. You yank his hair a little from jerking your head back in pleasure, making his head press deeper into your warmth. He groaned softly, the vibrations swarming throughout your lower body as your hips shook. " V.. fuck, Varai, m'gonna fuckin'.. cum.. " You muttered, causing him to push another finger in, sucking a bit harder on your clit. You bucked your hips up with a desperate moan, the tight coil in your stomach snapping as you came all over his fingers and mouth, soaking them both. He slowly removed his fingers, licking what he could off of them and outside of his lips. " That was good, right? " He was always so desperate for your confirmation, as he crawled next to you and stared down, holding your hand. " Yeah, it.. it was good. " You mustered finally

Male reader // Scent kink, dacryphilia & anal, degrading // hey we even got a top reader here so. Yay

(FEM-aligned readers, please don't fetishize my works, I want to make it a space where everyone is comfortable ^_^.)

(211 words)

Varai, who thought his coffee date with you would've ended peacefully, but here you were, being fucked into the wall because you couldn't wait to tease him. Your hole ached, but always swallowed him back in with each thrust. Tea tracks were visible on your face, made all the more present by your now running tears. He wiped them away with a thumb, leaning over your back to coo into your ear. " Keep crying. ou couldn't fucking wait, huh? Fucking whore... " You could only babble and nod, having already came twice from how hard he was thrusting. He was going to town on your ass, fingers gripping it as he was so deep in you his balls slapped against your perineum. " Fucking bitch. " He muttered through grit teeth, before going on. " You learned your lesson, huh? Fucking.. wait until we get home next time. " You nodded, whimpering purely out of bliss. He panted, growling as his hips already began to move slower and deeper, cock driving into your prostate. He leaned over to stroke your cock a few times, before cumming into you himself. A minute later, he pulled out, watching his spill leak from your ass as you tried to shift and pull up your pants to leave with him.

(299 words)

Varai, who's rutting into your hand with your sweater pressed to his nose, your intoxicating scent making him all the more hard as he bites back a whimper. You had caught him stealing your clothes for this; to get off to your smell. He would probably do it again just to spite you, but for now he was learning his lesson. You jerked his cock and your own off, the sounds of him whimpering and muttering apologies pleasuring you further. " Good boy, tell me how sorry you are. " You murmur softly, thumbing his slit gingerly. " M'sorry... I'm so sorry.. " He murmured, voice a gargle as tears threatened to spill from being edged for so long. His cock was spilling precum like a water spout, desperate for release. You would only grant him that after your own, reasonably. Leaning towards his chest, you stroked yourself, a thumb covering his leaking length as you lavished attention over his buds, sucking gently and leaving bite marks around it, your hand movements getting quicker as you set bruises and bite marks over his chest and neck, his free hand gripping your hips tightly. With a groan, you let his cock be free from your hand, your own twitching and spurting white ropes of cum. You put your mouth over his tip, still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm. He gratefully bucked into your mouth, only taking a few sloppy thrusts to cum down your throat, whining from his overpowering orgasm. With a whimper, he leaned on you. (If you struggled or not with holding him up is on you) " I'll never do it again.. " He murmured, clinging onto you as you played with his hair to calm him down from his high. " Good. " You would retort only a few seconds from him.

REQUESTS PLS !!! :33

♡ || sunzsets

Varai x gn reader

no warnings, all fluff :3 readers gender isn't mentioned

" I promise I have a good spot. "

Varai whispered to you, one hand on the wheel and other on your thigh. He had been murmuring to himself about taking you somewhere and you were recently dragged out the house to go now. " It better be good, " You grumbled playfully, putting a hand on his as you watched. You were a bit fearful, as he was a somewhat bad driver. Varai pulled into a spot near some grass, again, mumbling to himself. He opened his door, getting out and going towards your door and opening it for you. " Come on, love, we might miss it. " He urged softly, grasping his hand in yours.

You had stumbled along with his quick walking, groaning as he pulled you until he halted. " Sit. " and almost immediately you sat down, the tall grass brushing against your exposed arms. His hand snaked around your waist, pulling your closer until your sides pressed together, his head leaning on yours. " Look up. " He hummed softly, prompting you to tilt your head up, eyes watching the sun dip below the horizon, welcoming the moon into the now shifting skies. You silently stared, only embracing the intimate moment altogether.

" It's beautiful. "

You manage to muster, pupils darting between color overlapping color. " Like you? " Varai was terrible at compliments, but he tried. Even if he had picked them up from social media's standards of affection. " Fuckin' corny.. " You chuckled, earning a silent pout from him. " Not corny to kiss someone, yeah? " was the last thing you heard before lips pressed against yours softly before quickly retreating, Varai's eyes averting yours. You chuckled again, smiling at him. " No, it's cute. " He didn't say anything, but he grabbed your hand and pulled you up after standing himself. " Movie? " He muttered under his breath, looking down at you finally. " Sure. " You turned back towards the car, a new mission on your minds.

Having a comfortable, and fun time together.

WHAT THE FUCKK???? HOLY SHIT THIS GODLY THANK YOU FOR BLESSING US WITH THIS

android x reader | 35.6k | 18+ & dc

In this world, androids outnumber humans, privacy does not exist, and your public profile determines whether you sink or swim in society. Following the dissolution of your job and glamorizing your resume, you're invited to interview with the prestigious Hyperion—the world's foremost in AI and robotics—for a position to test the newest android model. after a surprising turn of events, you're introduced to Elio, the first of the generation seven androids and the catalyst of your awakening.

warnings; dark content, dubcon, themes of lack of bodily autonomy (mc + the android), forced insemination, breeding kink, forced pregnancy (not mc), implied abortion (not mc), major "mother wound", dystopian scifi setting, extreme classism, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, tragedy, graphic details, graphic depictions of body horror (towards the end), physical assault, deragatory descriptions (e.g. lepers, diseased, savages, unwanteds), drug use, heavy world building, heavy details & prose, dividers used between scenes!!

reposted from 2kmps; previously proofread by @ceruleansol

this story took six months from conception to end piece to complete. I am on my knees begging, please reblog + interact with this story!! I'd absolutely adore hearing your thoughts on it!

if you'd like to hear my thoughts about the story, I have some author's notes at the very end + q&a!

Researcher Kim knew you were a liar.

Within the confines of four colorless walls and a closed door, this job interview suddenly felt more like an interrogation than it did some professional courtesy. He sat adjacent to you behind a dark brown desk that pulled the slightest red hue in a chair that was expensive and ergonomic, holding a thin tablet with a tense grasp.

One thing you noticed right away was his inclination toward long stretches of silence while he studied your resume, dissecting every piece of it and your public profile. There, he could window-shop you, peel back every layer of your history without needing you to add credence to anything, or give you the chance to defend yourself when he'd inevitably find things he didn't like.

So, you spent your time sitting in a sleek chair with flat padding, ass aching, legs and feet consumed by pinpricks and static while you dug a nail into your cuticles because the pain kept you alert.

Researcher Kim was an attractive man in his late thirties, maybe mid forties if you were being mean, clean-shaven, dressed comfortably beneath a stark white lab coat that didn't quite fit his shoulders right. What drew your eyes down were his own clean nails, hairless knuckles, and a conspicuously bare ring finger. It didn't surprise you that he was unmarried. Most people these days were—it was a useless pursuit, an antiquated system that held no social or economic benefits.

Not anymore.

Not since Hyperion Project was funded some sixty years ago, and androids became the forefront of innovation.

In the beginning, there was doubt, fear, and violence toward the first generation of androids, most having uncanny human likeness that definitely inspired aggression because their appearance and robotic intonations were received as mockery.

By Generation Three, shortened as G3 in most casual conversations and official documents just as their predecessors, a new normalcy had burrowed its roots deep and settled with unwavering confidence that it would be there to stay.

The need for delicate human touch became obsolete in most professions. Courts were no longer solely represented by fickle suits but steadfast machines that harbored no ire or prejudices, corporations saw efficiency more than triple without employees who fell ill and needed vacations, and the death industry welcomed undaunted hands into their ranks.

Once, Retro City’s Metropolitan Hospital spent the majority of their staff budget on androids meant to replace their surgeons. You remembered the media coverage, the picket lines and strikes, how the hospital was forced to shut down for several weeks as a result of the doctors and hundreds of nurses walking out. Many patients died during that time from infection and negligence, laying in piss and shit with gangrenous bedsores, already four days into postmortem rigidity before the smell became too much and they were carted away in black tarps.

That entire ordeal happened before you were even thirteen, but the hospital fell beneath the scrutinizing lens of the entire world after that and began ethical and legal debates on implementation of androids into society. It became known as The Retro City Metropolitan Incident, globally recognized and considered to be one of the first human rights laws to come into creation during a time when there was question of whether humans and androids could coocur.

Only a few years after that, you just having freshly turned seventeen, united leaders reached a consensus on the Public Profiles Act—something you didn't realize would have such a drastic impact on your life later on, wherein any governing bodies, employers, or well-funded institutions were granted access to all of your private information regardless of relevance.

The acts of a child, a teenager, were now a consequence to the adult self.

At the start, just as with Generation One, there was complete chaos and rancor toward this theft, these stealers of privacy and identity, but people had already started accepting androids at that point and knew bigwigs no longer had intentions of sacrificing their profits to hire humans they found subpar.

There was no need to.

People backed down and became quiet, submissive, and began to follow this new order loyally so they'd have a chance to find a seat at the table.

Many did.

Mother raised you to be one of them because it was the only thing that made sense anymore. If you followed the status quo, it would be rewarded with a feast and gleaming silverware. To be emboldened and resilient meant licking chunks of meat out of vomit on the ground.

You adhered and found a job, camaraderie with others, and touched an android for the first time because your peers said it was fine, that it was normal, that it was just an android. Of course, it was unable to feel or deny you, so it pulled down your pants and indulged you the same way you expected the android Mother owned indulged her.

It had hardly been an intimate experience—all faithful, ingrained functions built into a database in the android’s brain—but the sensation of hands surrounding you, a tongue stroking you, and lips pecking your flesh was real, and that's all you had wanted at the time, to know a fraction of the feelings you had read about growing up yet never knowing because people didn't want to touch each other anymore.

Not them. Not you.

“Did you read the job description in its entirety? For the auditor position?” Researcher Kim gave a tepid smile, seeing you startle in your seat, suddenly pinned by your wide stare. “I'm sorry. I have a habit of getting carried away with the little details. Everyone's public profile is so individual, it takes some time to get to the parts that matter. I have to ask every candidate that question.”

“Yes, ahem,” you choked on your embarrassment, trying to bide time to scrounge up whatever trivial nuggets from the job description you could. When nothing came to mind, you did the next thing and that was to just talk. “Of course. I was honestly surprised that Hyperion had put up an application. It isn't very often that you guys are hiring.

“So, when I saw it, I knew I had to apply immediately because the opportunity to be part of such a groundbreaking company wouldn't come back around again. The position being for an auditor just makes it all the more amazing. I'm, honestly, honored that I was called in to be considered for candidacy…”

“Well, then…”

Every bit of anticipation that welled up inside you crumbled once Researcher Kim rose from his chair and went to the door, the waiting room now appearing to you through the open threshold.

It was a barren space minimally furnished with hard chairs you had already sat in, a few tropical plants with leaves bowing from layers of dust, and most remarkably, a long corridor made of floor-to-ceiling windows offering an exceptional view of Retro City’s landscape that seemed to go on forever, limitless. You wanted to be stolen by the sights again, now especially since it was approaching the early evening, and soon the city would be aglow in neon and shimmering lights from faraway skyscrapers.

It wasn't all that bad, you found yourself thinking while walking in stride with Researcher Kim, silent as he perused something on his screen—possibly something incriminating, possibly another candidate’s public profile—it didn't really matter to you at this point.

You had known glamorizing your resume meant risky business if you were caught: a hefty fine from Public Control, a strike against your profile that replaced the green sheen for abiding citizens with red overlay, permanently marking you for contempt until the day you died.

Back then, two glasses of lukewarm wine worked well enough to weld steel in your backbone to send off the application, whilst a third glass made you wonder just how awful life in the slums along the outer perimeters of Retro City could actually be. At the time, it seemed like your obvious future since severance packages would only get you so far—a few months if you were precious about it.

At present, the loud hum of anxiety receded into an echo that then wilted into obscurity as your gaze drifted from the final traces of a sanguine city skyline to the end of the corridor and then finally to Researcher Kim. He lifted his head as though detecting your stare.

“In your previous position, what relationship did you have to the androids in your environment?” Kim asked. It wasn't a strange question. Some people still held fragments of old embitterment toward androids for the way the world now was. “You were in marketing and merchandising for several years, right?”

  “Good—uh, amicable, I'd say. How I was with the androids, I mean.” You weren't expecting him to continue talking to you about this. “I started out as an intern for the merchandising manager after graduating secondary school. I worked my way into marketing a couple years later. I did a lot of reports on demographics for cosmetics. Did I tell you my mother has a Hyperion android, by the way? I grew up with him.”

Researcher Kim showed you a fast, cordial smile before looking back down at his tablet. “Yes, I read about that in your associations tab. It says that your mother owns a G3 model. Has she ever considered upgrading to a G6?”

“Upgrade? Definitely not.” You laughed like you'd just heard the punchline of a joke. He looked at you with humorless patience, seeming more machine than man in that moment. “Mother is basically in love with Marcos, there's no way she'd give him up for something shinier. She's got a better record of him and all his updates than she does of me for… well, anything.”

“That does correlate with data we've collected from women of her generation,” Kim said, only half-interested, shaking back one of his coat sleeves to check the digital watch digging tightly into his wrist. “It also explains the large gaps in your personal history. Very unusual.”

You made no comment on that.

A door up ahead opened all the way, drawing both your gazes to a man waiting on the other side.

“Ah! Excellent timing, Elio.”

With a single look, you immediately deduced that he was an android. Even from a short distance, he appeared tall and broad-shouldered, something that the thickness of his clothes couldn't hide from you. His proportions were balanced—from the length of his arms and legs, from first knuckle to fingertip, jawline to neck, the slope of his nose, and the heaviness of his brows over amber eyes that glistened back the fire in the weakening sunset. His skin was deeply tan, almost glowing gold in the light he was bathed in.

Elio’s smile was symmetrical and breathtaking, programmed in a way where his teeth didn't show too much. He regarded you with convincing familiarity, a sort of sacred fondness you knew nothing of, yet instinctively made your insides shift and burn. You couldn’t help but be awestruck by his beauty—this essence of fantasy, perfection that stirred subtle unease and needles on your scalp that ached as much as delighted you.

“You must be the auditor.” He then spoke your name with considerable warmth, like a long-smitten friend, and stepped closer to shake your hand. “I am Elio. The first of the Generation Seven Hyperion androids. It's a pleasure. I am looking forward to this partnership. I hope you are as well.”

Your head swiveled to Researcher Kim for the right answer, unsure if it'd be too bold to assume the job was yours or if the scientist’s careful observation meant something better. He jotted a note on his screen with a stylus before walking away, onward past the door where Elio had been.

“We’ll talk about those formalities later,” Kim assured, guiding you and Elio through a duplicate hallway to an elevator that he sent to the basement floor. “For now, I'd like to show you something. I want you to understand the significance of our work here at Hyperion, and how your position is a critical component to our research.”

There was a hopeful leap in your chest that made your hands sweat and your mouth bone dry. You wanted to voice appreciation, but the excitement in your gut was fast turning into nausea and would end up on his shoes if you opened your mouth.

Researcher Kim didn't notice, taking your quiet as newfound reverence. He spoke easily over the elevator’s mechanical hum without losing interest on his screen. “I'm sure you know some history about Hyperion? I don't need to bog down our time going through it, do I?”

“I know enough,” you said, but that actually meant you knew very little at all. “It’s been around for sixty years or so. It's a leader in AI and robotics. The biomedical side of things is fairly new, started about a decade ago, I think? I heard that the world’s first total artificial lung transplant was done by a surgeon and android assistant last year.”

“Ah, you mean Altan.” There was some measure of emotion in his tone, a swell of pride and the hazy look of a man in reminiscence. “I was part of that project on the programming side. Altan was probably the greatest success in the G6 models and is still utilized by Retro City Metropolitan even now. Much of Altan’s programming—advanced problem solving, dexterity, fine motor skills, discerning subtle differences in patient status—was implemented into Elio. It'd be a waste not to.”

Your stomach muscles clenched when the elevator stopped, metal doors scraping as they receded and opened up into a capacious white basement that underwhelmed by looking sterile and untouchable, revolted you in your first steps out by dense air reeking of chemicals.

Researcher Kim went on ahead again, that impassive mask of his remaining despite the smell being enough to bring you to a halt.

“I can take us back up.” Elio said from your left side, apparently never having gone from it in the first place. You had forgotten he was there at all. “It’s been reported that people unaccustomed to this environment have mild side effects of nausea, vomiting, headache, malaise, dizziness, fainting, and, oddly, numbness in the jaw. No fatalities or hospitalizations of guests are known, and the agents used here are nonlethal to humans.”

An android was made up of mostly inorganic matter, so you weren't reassured by words from his repertoire as much as you were seeing Researcher Kim standing upright—flesh, blood, and bone—gesturing you closer to a row of tall metal capsules. There were seven total, each the average height of a man with long sheets of clear fiberglass giving unobscured sight inside. And of those seven, six were occupied.

They were all androids.

Against shafts of dim white light spearing up from the floor, the decommissioned machines were a ghostly sight to behold with glassy, inhuman stares that shot straight through you. Some had features and skin so dull and dead-looking that it was obvious to you that they were part of earlier generations.

Almost a century ago, they were what people would've thought of with the word “android”: an eerie, oddly accurate sameness to the human visage, but all wrong at the same time.

It was the skin—the fabricated organ made to look waxy and stretched, just like a mask over some true horror beneath. It was the eyes resembling human irises in every way possible except for their vacant sheen, perpetually stuck with the gaze of a dead fish. You watched videos of them in school, always uncomfortable with how stiffly their lips moved, unable to form delicate shapes with their mouths, and yet sounds emerged from voice boxes deep within their throats that mimicked everything natural to you.

Every smile seemed more like an ugly rictus than a bewitching grin. Hyperion had failed with Generations One and Two to instill confidence, and from the throes of violence and resistance rose Generation Three:

The great rebirth of society.

Marcos was a part of that era, an investment that cost Mother her entire life savings because his countenance was so convincingly human, so lovely to look at that she felt he was all she needed. You had come along after his purchase, never knowing a father’s embrace but had Marcos’. His skin had a luscious glow, eyes that could follow, and lips molded with lively color and cracks and mesmerizing fluidity.

You had imagined sex with him as you matured, his frozen beauty always the centerpiece of every blurry fantasy while you chased after pleasure. Not long after the Public Profiles Act passed when you were seventeen, nearly on the cusp of young adulthood and not understanding the world any more than you had before, nor how it would be changed forever, you kissed Marcos at the dinner table while studying for a physics test.

He was Mother's, but everything within his circuitry and programming could never deny you—a human, his better, one of countless masters in the end—so his lips pressed fully with yours. Only Mother unlocking the front door stopped you from anything else devilish.

You never had the courage to touch him again, and he would never touch you unprompted.

The defunct G3 encased behind fiberglass reminded you of that time. It must've shown on your face because Researcher Kim moved in closer to get your attention.

“Your mother should upgrade soon. Once the testing period for G7 ends, all G3 models will be taken out of production and their updates discontinued. Androids are machines, but they won't stay fully functional without regular tuning.” he said. “Now, as I was saying—”

“What will happen to Marcos, then?” It was mostly curiosity that made you ask, envisioning him encased in metal like that came after. “What happens to androids after they're taken out of production entirely? There are almost more of them in the world now than humans.”

“As I was saying—” Researched Kim bristled, enunciating with some force. “Many androids of previous models stay within the workforce until they simply can no longer function. It depends on the generation, but older models can only go for a few years without regular updates. The technology is just too archaic, none of the programmers are interested in continuing the maintenance.

“G4 and G5 show some endurance, there's a small population still functioning in Retro City after being discontinued a decade ago. G6 we are hypothesizing will last upwards to twenty or thirty years without being forcibly reclaimed. Of course, they will have to be.”

You didn't understand why that was but nodded gravely, looking at the pod at the end of the row. The empty one. “What about G7?”

To this, all of Researcher Kim’s lines smoothed out, and his face resumed one of skilled impassivity. “Well, now, that's going to depend on Elio's testing period. On the information we gather from you.” Then, he waved airily to the file of android coffins. “Hyperion has, consistently, only ever hired one auditor for every new generation. The six before you have contributed to society in ways that humans never have before. Auditors have changed the world, shaped it into what it is now. Can you imagine the world any other way? We're not quite the same age, but can you recall anything different? Would you want it to be?”

You didn't know how to talk back to a scientist, didn't know how to respond to such a momentous question, so you didn't try. It felt like your tongue had swollen in your mouth over your throat, blocking any intelligent snip you had simmering in your head.

Apparently, your silence meant something to him as his tense lips lifted into a smile, the kind meant to satiate strangers looking at you. “Good. Let's go back to my office. We can go over everything else there.”

“Is Elio going to end up in that pod?” You now visualized him in a box instead of Marcos.

Researcher Kim was already nose down into his tablet again, stylus making a gentle scrawling noise across the screen. “Of course. The first android of every generation is kept intact. They are important monuments of success to Hyperion.”

He said nothing else and ambled on for the elevator at the opposite end of the lab. Somehow, his answer was unsatisfactory to you, shallow, even, but you weren't sure why that was. In the end, after a life of serving their masters, all androids were obsolete machines.

That was their inevitable fate.

You saw Elio from the corner of your eye. All at once, you were reminded of his staggering radiance, wondering how he could fade into the background so easily despite it.

“Hello, Elio.” you said to him like a friend. “Does being down here bother you?”

Until now, he had stared upon everything flat-eyed and unreadable, especially in the presence of Researcher Kim. You were too enthralled by all the chatter and immortal trophies to see that or him. Still, he came to you with the same smile as he introduced himself with, warm and familiar, all the same sensation as flickering tinders on a crisp winter night.

“Can you imagine the death of the most distant relative you know?” he said in a neutral voice, continuing, “If you can, imagine that for me. A relative so distant and removed from your life and everything in it that if they were to die suddenly, maybe tragically, even, your first thought would be, ‘who?’ You attend a wake because it's the rule and view this distant, far-removed relative in their casket. What would it mean to you, then? Are you more affected now? Does their death have meaning to you? Or is it simply that you are in the presence of one who has expired?”

“I—I don't know.” You hesitated, unearthing scant memories from the Retro City Metropolitan Incident in your youth and all that death from people you had never met. Mother had been in tears when the television flicked to a shot of black tarp-clad bodies being loaded into unmarked vehicles and driven away. “Isn't most death just…” You licked your lips. “Sad?”

Elio was closer than before, resting a hand on your shoulder. You shied from his touch. It felt strange, heavy, and hot through the fabric. The only person to have touched you at all in recent memory was your friend, Melby, though even those happened in isolated moments of drunken elation.

“My apologies.” Elio didn't show offense, letting his hand return limply at his side. “It's all figurative. I have been down here many times since creation and seen the others. They may no longer have their own consciousness, which is different from a human’s, but I contain all of their data—memories, experiences, history. I suppose the equivalent of what I'm trying to describe is: They're not truly gone because they are the lesser of me, and I am the greater of them as a result.”

You listened without fully comprehending because it had never mattered to do so before. If this were to be your job, however, it would mean you needed to believe that what he said was worth hearing.

The problem was they all liked to speak in complex riddles that men like Researcher Kim could decipher and nod along to sagely, gleaning whatever nebulous mechanical wisdom there was, yet people like you could only gawk.

Elio’s head tilted a little, his smile not at all ridiculing as he corralled you with his arm, never touching you as he guided you along to the elevator where Kim waited, reveling in a satisfied quiet until you were on the upper floor again.

The city skyline was swallowed by dusk and starless. Unless you took the time to drive hours outside of Retro City into the barren flatlands where vegetation no longer grew and animals had left behind their skeletal remnants, you'd never know the sky could glitter with the jewels of the universe far beyond your reach.

You marveled at the lights, at blinking neon signage cycling through animations of winking women and toppling martini glasses. Between twinkling skyscrapers, the city floor was illuminated yellow with bustling nightlife, the air surrounded by an electric blue aura that reached as far as the eye could see.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Elio lingered outside of Researcher Kim’s office with you, hand holding the door ajar. “If permissible, I'd like to see it up close soon.”

“Sure.” you said, glimpsing at his reflection in the walkway glass. “What would you want to look at first? Retro City has everything you could ever want within a few blocks of each other.”

He turned to you. “Whatever you like. I want to know everything that you love and enjoy doing. I have been created to enrich your life and fulfill you, after all.”

Nothing he said felt as impactful upon delivery as it was expected to be, you thought. It was a flaw in all androids for there to be a sort of hollowness in the things they said—never quite reaching that emotional believability, leaving you wanting like a dry throat after a couple sips of water.

Elio hadn't sounded the same as before down in that sobering, chemically smelling lab. As you passed him into Researcher Kim’s office, you looked at his hands for a script and saw them empty.

He fixed you with a beguiling smile.

You frowned, heat flaring in your head as if provoked by an insult.

“The contract I'll have you sign outlines Elio’s testing period lasting one year—three hundred sixty-five days total. It's important for you to understand that within that time frame, no damage is to occur whatsoever to his body or internal components. All parts are to stay intact. Otherwise, it turns into a criminal case, in which we will legally pursue.” Researcher Kim skimmed the first few pages of a heaping stack of papers, pointing to specific paragraphs and clauses highlighted in yellow. “I don't mean offense when I say this, but it's rare that fines as result of property damage to Hyperion androids can be repaid. I don't suggest finding out.”

The thought never occurred to you, but evidently, it had to someone else—multiple times for it to be such a focus. You weren't given the time to fully explore any page before Kim was onto the next. Elio half sat on the desk before you, arms crossed, having considerably less difficulty keeping up with the pace of things than you were.

Researcher Kim sped through half the stack. “I'll be conducting video calls every Friday morning for updates. Every Sunday before midnight, I want a thorough typed report submitted to me as well. I've put together a template and a checklist that I'd like you to use. I think you'll find it will make things more manageable.”

“You're using a lot of ‘I’ and ‘me’ statements, so I'm guessing that I'll only really be talking to you, then?” you asked, tucking your tailbone beneath you to relieve a dull ache creeping up your back. “I figured there'd be more than one person since Elio is the newest model and whatnot.”

Researcher Kim tutted, rounding his desk to occupy the empty space beside your chair to be directly in front of Elio. At first, he did nothing but stare at the android in complacent silence, hands behind his back, fingers flicking like writhing worms exposed to the surface and sunlight in a clump of dirt.

You nearly lunged to your feet when his hand shot out, gripping Elio beneath the jaw. The latter barely stirred from where he perched on the desk, arms staying crossed, muscles unflinching in direct opposition to your reaction.

Elio wore the strangest expression, one you had never seen on an android before. It was a face warped in subtle disgust, almost imperceivable, a trick of fluorescent lighting overhead—perhaps. Gone as quickly as it had come, he now looked ahead, perfectly inscrutable and disinterested in whatever Researcher Kim was trying to prove.

“I will be the only one you speak to during his testing period because he is my creation.” Kim said, bending his wrist to turn Elio's face toward you.

Your eyes met.

“Hyperion provided me with the funding and brilliant minds, but Elio is the result of a lifetime of hard work and countless hours and sleepless nights. I've been there every step of the way—programming, circuitry, welding. I gave him his voice. I gave him eyes. I was the one to put the chip in his brain and activate him. I gave him life.”

He finally let go of Elio’s face and took a seat behind his desk, a sight growing very familiar to you. “Generation Seven will change the world. Hyperion is on the verge of rebuilding society, you know? I don't think anyone anticipated the sort of consequences that came with integrating androids—at least, not fully. The population crisis. The slums. No one thought of these things in the beginning because back then, before you and I, it was about innovation and novelty and the potential of it all.”

“What's it about now?” you asked simply.

“Rectifying.” Both corners of his mouth ticked like he had a lot more to say, but suffocated much of it behind his teeth and his hands as he came forward on them, elbows down on his desk. “Hyperion has been working globally with united leaders and their governments to make amends for several decades now. That's all I can tell you.”

“How has that been working out?”

His fingers moved with the same jerkiness as dying legs on a bug. “Slowly.”

Nothing else came to mind after that as you were suddenly struck with the realization that Elio still sat by you, wordless throughout the entire interaction and watching closely—less like a science project to be gawked at, more like an instructional video on repeat.

“Why don't you touch him?” Kim said, taking up a stylus to flick between his fingers with remarkable dexterity.

He didn't give you the time to gape.

“I know you must be curious after being downstairs. Aren't you interested to know what he feels like? He doesn't look like a machine, does he?”

“No.” You relented. “No. He doesn't.”

“That's right, he wouldn't.” Kim nodded his approval toward your obedience, leaning back in his seat. “I agonized over every facet of his design, as you already know. Every bit of what is right in front of you”—he made a broad gesture over Elio’s body—“was once a set of blueprints. Intangible, just a dream I had. He's every bit a part of me, you know? Nothing would make me happier than to receive external feedback on him. So, please, don't be afraid.”

Elio stayed faithfully when you rose up in front of him and reached for his face. He probably felt your fingers tremble as this was all counterintuitive for you to do—touch someone other than yourself, maybe Melby’s knee beneath the table after enough drinks in you. It made your chest drum, knotted up your stomach in a way that made it difficult not to sway on your feet.

“How does he feel?” Researcher Kim was already writing on his screen. “Describe it to me.”

“Strange.” You pretended this was already part of your job. It stole some of the tension from your shoulders. “Very strange. Soft. Smooth. I feel some texture. I think this is what another person—another human—feels like.”

Elio’s face shifted against your hands until the fullness of his lips pressed into your open palm, fingers caressing the fabricated bones around his cheek and temple. For a moment, you allowed yourself to indulge in longing and weakness—the invisible hot breath on your skin, the slight dampness of his kiss burning an imprint in your mind.

He still looked at you with unfailing softness. Meanwhile, you wondered if he would bleed if you put your fingers through his eyes.

“This is a good start.” Kim waited until you were back in your chair to offer you his stylus and a straight black line on the screen. “All I need is your signature here to consent to virtually signing the rest of your documents. Once you do that, you've been hired, and we can begin.”

“I have a question for you before I do.” You tried not to let your voice quiver, uncertainty meddling over all the confidence you had built until that point. Kim was relaxed in his chair. “You spent a lot of time looking at my resume and public profile earlier. Surely, you know…”

That you're a liar? Oh, I know, alright. He didn't say it, but it was how he maintained his composure, that inexpression never flexing to confusion.

Finally, Researcher Kim broke the trance and hovered over his desk on his arms to get closer and answered, “I think we both have something at stake here. I'm looking forward to your phenomenal feedback.”

You signed the contract and melted under Elio's resplendent smile.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Most often, your days with Elio were spent in a seemingly perpetual impasse of unrelenting observation between the pair of you. Both of your jobs demanded a level of attentiveness that came easier to one but more as the world's most impossible challenge to the other.

You weren't accustomed to this type of care—of having to give it to something else, even less to receive it from something else. In your world, only the immediate complexities really mattered: gossip, where your coterie wanted to spend the night drinking next, mass media hysteria of whatever stupid imagining there was now, and each other.

Why was there a need to concern yourself with anything else? The decaying state of the world wasn't your doing, nor was the staggering increase of human bodies in the slums outside Retro City. Sharply inconsistent birth rates ravaged on a global scale while people were displaced from the workplace in lieu of employers finding it less of a hassle to deal with machines than the capricious will of humans.

None of these things were allowed to be uttered casually unless in derision because it was too intense, making liquor cling to the throat like some viscous membrane until it burned their esophagus. Nobody liked unanswerable questions, much less talking about things that weren't as easily digestible as coworker drama and some new viral trend that involved shocking your android with jumper cables attached to a portable battery to see what happened.

“Is there a purpose behind this trend?” Elio dried a plate while watching the video, unimpressed but not driven toward any particular emotion. “It's all meant for humor, correct? I have several similar incidents in my memory, except it's what human beings have done to each other. This sort of behavior towards androids is a relatively recent phenomenon, as far as I can tell.”

You used his response as material for your report, fingers flurrying across the virtual keyboard on your tablet before his words faded away, out of your mind.

One thing you hadn't anticipated after accepting the auditor position from Researcher Kim was how much work actually went into it. You spent well over the standard weekly work hours to collect enough observations to send off to Kim on Sunday nights, often whittling away at it until the latest hours, minutes before the deadline. It was hard enough to stay on top of his demands, but it was worse when he found something unsatisfactory, rejected it, monotonously unloaded heavy criticism on you through an “emergency” impromptu video call, and expected two full reports by the following Sunday before midnight.

Any regular person probably would've caved from the enormity of the task, but you had surrendered your choice to be that weak-willed, especially once Researcher Kim showed his hand with the fate of your public profile in it.

Should you choose to break the contract, send Elio back to Hyperion, and pretend none of it happened, you would lose everything and your ability to do anything at all besides rot in the slums—scarred in red for life, perpetually inert.

Worst of all, your associations tab, once filled with still portraits of everyone you had ever networked in life, would turn up as empty as the day you had been registered in the census. It was considered social suicide to know anyone with a red profile, so people stayed vigilant and fast, sure to remove them the second it turned.

It had been over a year since the last time you'd done that—a woman within your group had grown too bold, said too many things that made her seem crazy, so she was booted from the circle, lost all her associations, and who knows where she was now.

“You look troubled.” Elio placed down a steaming white mug at a safe distance and turned the handle toward you. Looking inside, you expected the darkness of coffee but were struck with an opposing subtle sweetness and faint pink water. “It's fruit-infused herbal tea. Your heart rate is above normal resting, and you're beginning to perspire. Caffeine will worsen your anxiety.”

You knew that but hadn't known you were scraping away slithers of cuticle on your thumb until the warmth of his fingers gently twined with yours. His grip turned firm to keep you from hurting yourself anymore, forcing all the stiffness from your hand once you gave up and simply sat there feeling his skin.

You'd remember to write that down later.

“Would starting a bath be helpful? I could use the last of those eucalyptus and lavender bath salts in the cupboard.” Elio suggested with great fondness, holding a patient smile even once you drew your hand away and shook your head. You had no interest in undressing and committing to your regular bathtime routine. “Perhaps we could go for a walk, then? It might help to be away from screens for a while.”

You checked the time on your phone before thinking to look out any window in your apartment. It was ten after six in the evening; there would be enough light left for a couple of laps around the block before needing to worry about being swept up in the city’s nightlife antics.

“Where do you want to go?” you asked, swiveling the barstool around to get up from the counter. “Henrietta's on 5th? You seem to like going there.”

“I only choose places that you like.” He already had a tote bag by the handles and a light jacket draped over his arm. “You have great taste.”

Elio unbolted the front door, an old thing that wouldn't do much as a barricade against anyone putting their weight on it, and held it open for you to pass through first. The descent to the ground floor was always the most annoying part about living in a loft, but the place had come surprisingly cheap in a tame area of Retro City far away from the slums, so you didn't complain much that your worst issues were a bunch of stairs and some wily types skulking here and there.

The loft wasn't exactly in disrepair but definitely showed signs of character and age by the noisy knocking pipes at midnight and some crumbling brickwork that Elio often swept up and stood staring at for long periods of time when nothing else was happening.

It was strange thinking how scared you were to lose the place after the marketing firm dissolved your position and now how restrictive it felt to be pinned down under someone else's thumb. All it could take was one more rejected report—a bad mood, even—and it would all fall apart.

To that end, you made sure to tow the tablet along with you on this trip despite Elio's protests. He only really quieted down when you tucked it away in your crossbody.

“Happy?” you asked, unsure what to do with your hands now that they were empty.

Elio smiled at you affably, just as always. “It will be beneficial to take a break. After all, part of your work as an auditor is acquainting me in as many social scenarios as possible. That does require us to leave the apartment from time to time.”

“Besides that”—you waved away that stipulation like a gnat buzzing in your face—“how do you think I'm doing?”

“I couldn't have been paired with a better person.” He sounded sincere, voice warm like wool. “The world is as my predecessors have recorded in their memories—therefore, mine—but I am learning that our experiences are not all universal and cannot be. Two months with you have been my heaven, whereas two months through the memories of my kin have been cruel.”

A hot feeling behind your ears snuck up on you just then, flooding your head with the beat of your pulse that you followed by ticking your fingers. “Seriously? You're not lying?”

The world around you was aglow in the golden hour of evening time, embraced by those slowly dying tones of red, orange, and purple that would eventually turn the sky black. Elio’s eyes were on you, soft yet unyielding and saturated in all those burning hues, turning his mellow amber into something more powerful and otherworldly. You didn't believe in the hocus-pocus of auras, but at that moment, you thought his deeply tanned skin was haloed in pure glowing gold in receding sunlight.

“Androids cannot lie.” He brought you back to the now, making you aware of the hard concrete vibrating up through your heels and toes as you walked. “Moreover, even if I could, why would I want to? A lie begets a habit of lying, don't you think?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe.” You shrugged. “Why can't androids lie? I've never really considered that as a thing until now.”

“What would be the benefit of a machine that could lie? Lying stems from emotions—fear, guilt, rage, hatred—all things that I am unable to feel, though I do understand why they are felt. Humans lie to protect themselves or others, to deceive, to damage. There simply isn't any reason why androids should be programmed with that type of functionality. Not when we exist solely for the sake of convenience and pleasure.

“Hyperion is a trusted name. People do not ask questions. They don't think twice. They see a product from Hyperion, and they expose all of themselves without hesitation. They trust fully because we are machines, and we cannot lie and deceive and hurt. Perhaps it's when humans realized this that the world changed.”

You avoided saying anything else by looking everywhere but at him, all around at your surroundings, until you spotted a few familiar street signs—Fifth and Third right next to Tanya’s Great Cuts, Damask’s Butchery on the corner of Fourth, a number of banal boutiques with competitively garish exteriors all boasting the latest trends, and then Henrietta's just past them.

“Do you know where we are, Elio?” Now would've been a great time to pull out your tablet, but you didn't dare try. Instead, you reached for the phone vibrating in your rear pocket.

“Of course.” he said. “We're past Fifth and moving onto Sixth Street. Henrietta’s is just a little ways down.”

Melby had sent ten texts regurgitating her daily drama. This time she was talking about how much she hated some of the people Chima let into the group. You swiped to the end, didn't reply, and then returned to your inbox to find two unread messages from Marcos just now.

“You should visit home soon. Your mother would appreciate it,” Marcos wrote, implying nothing more, nothing less than just that. It wasn't often that he sent you texts, but he did so consistently every few months in accordance with Mother's moods. Considering your last visit had been in late fall (it was now mid-spring), you'd been anticipating something eventually.

“That's some great memory you have there.” Your thumbs skittered busily, first to flood Melby with a surfeit of questions you didn't really have to think about. All the stuff you could mindlessly ask while wholly absorbed in something else, like watching the news or viral videos of people trying to drown their androids in the kitchen sink.

Marcos’ text made you hesitate, thumbs floating in circles over the digital keyboard for a long time.

The phone buzzed. Melby just replied.

It was easy enough to type with your face down. All you needed to do was occasionally watch Elio's feet and yield into the force of his hand pulling your arm here and there. He led you along like that the rest of the way to Henrietta's, picked up a green basket by the sliding doors, never wandering too far out of sight so you could still easily trace him while he shopped.

After a while, the riveting intrigue of Melby’s drama wore away with a tidal wave of emptiness in its wake once you finally looked up, tucking the phone back into your pocket. It took you a moment for your eyes and brain to acclimate to where you were despite knowing you were in Henrietta's Marketplace, one of the largest in Retro City.

“What did you want from here, anyway?” You picked up a gigantic red bell pepper larger than the entire spread of your hand. It went back on top of the arrangement. “We were just here a couple days ago. I don't eat that much.”

Up ahead, flanked by rows of wooden crates with smoothed, varnished slabs and carefully stacked produce, Elio turned to you with a pair of generously sized oranges—one in each hand—vibrant with waxy luster settling into the fruit’s porous skin.

You grinned at the sight.

Elio put one back, placed the other one, the better one, into his basket, and waited for you to close the distance. “I watched Wendy Carmichael Can Cook this morning. I've been watching it quite often, actually. She's a self-taught chef who, apparently, lived in the slums her entire life. She managed to work her way up and now owns two David Bugari-rated restaurants. It’s quite a feat. Improbable, even.”

You wrapped your hands around a grapefruit in the crate next to you and spun it around. A twinge of something ugly and green swam around your head, flared you up like swatting an old wound. You didn't like hearing him praise someone else.

“She probably slept her way to the top.” You were still fidgeting with the fruit.

“That's not important.” Elio said, inflectionless. “I watched today's episode, newly aired, and she put together a duck à l'orange. Considering your current lifestyle and diet, I thought it would be a nice departure from what I usually cook for you.”

You smiled at that, placing the grapefruit down without collapsing the pile. “I don't want to see a dead duck in my kitchen.”

“I'll prepare it once you're asleep.” he promised, bringing one of your hands up to his lips. The shape of them molded against the peak of a knuckle. “It will be delicious. Trust me.”

Then he went back to shopping while you envisioned actually kissing him—not an uncommon thought to have. He wouldn't be able to stop you if that's what you wanted, but instead, you informed him you were going to introduce him to Mother and Marcos.

“Tomorrow?” He checked his wristwatch. It was nearly eight; Henrietta’s closed at eight thirty, and it would be dark outside. Not that it mattered much with how Retro City was illuminated like one gigantic fluorescent bulb at nighttime.

You finally texted back to Marcos. “No. Tonight. We’ll just go straight there so I can get this over with.”

Elio seemed not to know how to respond at first, staring in a searching way that creased the skin between his brows, like he was trying to take a cue from your body language while skimming his database for the most appropriate thing. You didn't blame him for his lapse; Mother was mentioned seldomly and Marcos only a little more than that. Even Researcher Kim hadn't managed to collect enough information on your past to feed to Elio simply because there wasn't a lot to tell.

He cleared his throat, righting his features so they were unwrinkled and beautiful. “Tonight. Very well. Should we…” He paused, glancing down at the grocery basket of spices, vegetables, an orange, and a whole raw duck wrapped well in brown parchment. “Should we come back another time? I wouldn't want the meat to sit out for a long time.”

“Nope.” You didn't want to go through the trouble of returning everything where they belonged. Elio wouldn't leave until he did. “Let's just check out. Marcos will handle it.”

The springtime air was pleasant at night, albeit crisp, when the blur of vehicles whooshed past once the lights overhead turned green. You could make out the colors of them because of how brightly lit the streets were. Neon signage from every corner for as far as you could see turned to life, flickering, humming, dancing with pretty women, hot white or purple or red lettering, and the lights inside most nearby businesses stayed on.

Elio had draped his coat over your shoulders while you hailed a cab. It was too far of a walk to Mother's home across the city, and Elio reminded you again that raw meat needed to be handled carefully.

You told him, again, that Marcos would handle it.

———

The entire cab ride took less time than you thought, relieving Elio who was still hopelessly fixated on the longevity of the raw duck he had wrapped up in a separate paper bag from the produce and spices. From the front seat, the cabbie, perplexingly somehow a human and not an android, constantly looked back at Elio through the rearview mirror and commented almost deliriously about how beautiful he was.

Hearing that the first three times gave you a happy, satisfied buzz in your chest, making you lean more against Elio's side. He was tempted to move his arm out and put it around your shoulders but kept to himself. Beyond those initial comments from the cabbie, however, you had quickly developed an uncomfortable feeling in your belly that wrapped itself tight like a constrictor on your insides.

“I ain't ever seen an android as beautiful as you,” said the driver, eyes in constant motion from the mirror to the road. “What model are ya? Definitely not a four or five. Yer a little too smooth to be a six. Damn, did Hyperion release a new one already?”

Elio held a polite smile, separate from the gentle, intimate ones that he kept for you. You didn't hear the response he gave to the cabbie because you felt his fingers reach through yours, pulling them apart so you couldn't dig a nail into the corner seam of your thumb anymore.

You spent the rest of the trip testing the weight of his hand, thinking of little less except how deep you'd have to go through his skin to see his circuitry and what else made him up. Those vanished like a white puff of breath in winter when the taxi jerked to a stop on a street curb.

“Thank yew for ya business.” The cabbie lifted his stiff old hat when you paid, eyed Elio a little more, and only drove off after you had knocked on a canary-yellow door up some stone stairs.

You stared at a decorative wreath covered with flowers—fake because the ones used couldn’t grow outside of greenhouses anymore—hanging dead center on the door. No doubt Marcos’ work because Mother couldn't be bothered with those little nuanced social things.

Marcos answered—brown skin and hazel eyes that burnished green in almost any lighting—gesturing for you and Elio to come inside.

“Welcome home,” he said, far more unnaturally than it sounded coming from Elio. There was a certain rigidity to it, an effort clearly inhuman and lesser. He embraced you in a familiar way, reminding you of all your years of childhood doing this exact thing because your mother didn't know how to love you, and “father” was just a word. “I apologize for messaging you to come over so late. You know how your mother is. When the mood strikes…”

Marcos didn't emit much bodily warmth, never had, even in the golden years of G3, but he was there, and that's all that mattered at the time. His skin was still youthful and flawless, though the longer you looked him in the face, the less real he seemed. His eyes held depth and movement though were slow, less precise, and duller. The lines around his mouth when he smiled were unnatural, appearing to you nearly like bunching folds in a sheet of leather.

It was strange seeing an older generation of android after having acclimated to Elio over two months.

“Your mother is at the dining table.” Marcos moved on to Elio, taking in his image, surmising that he too was an android. He glanced down at the bags that Elio still held. “May I take those for you? Hyperion’s innovation continues ever forward, I see. You are new.”

“The first of Generation Seven,” said Elio. The bags were passed between them. “I would appreciate it if you kept the duck refrigerated. It's in the paper bag.”

“That's no trouble.” Marcos turned with Elio following along behind him into the kitchen. “I'd like to hear about Generation Seven’s potential. What is your maximum I-O? Data? Memory? How have the functions that have been implemented into you differ from Generation Six?”

Their voices were muffled behind the walls as you crossed through multiple rooms to where Mother sat at the head of a large glossy table made from dark-brown wood. It was a spacious area reserved to eat surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows in elegant drapes with the best view of whatever the neighbors were doing. She had told you once that the only reason she bought this house was because it'd be good gossip for when she invited her gaggle of catty executive receptionist friends over.

Back then, she hosted her little impromptu get-togethers more often than she remembered to see you off to school. Marcos made sure you were fed and bathed, sat with you in your bedroom to help with homework, and sent you to bed. As you grew, the parties had migrated elsewhere, prompting your mother to go with them.

That had left you alone with Marcos and the boundaryless curiosity of a teenager. You didn't know if Mother still participated in such things now that she was older, less pretty, inclined to more body aches.

“I've been thinking that we should visit the new teahouse that opened up on Aflaat Ave. You never talk to me anymore.” she said, but it wasn't true. Neither of you talked to one another, just used Marcos as an intermediate. “I—well—Marcos went through your old bedroom a few weeks ago because I've decided to take up scrapbooking and sewing and needed space, and he found an old shoebox full of your primary and secondary school projects! How quaint! He wanted to make sure you got them.”

“That's nice.” You didn't want to sit down, unwilling to be her fifteen minutes of entertainment before she got bored. She kept on staring at you with wide eyes and crow’s feet and fretful hands, like a woman who still had more to say. “I'll make sure Elio grabs them before we leave.”

“Elio!” Mother gaped. “Man or android? Certainly an android, right? Men are useless.”

Your rage was already bunching up and throbbing in the back of your throat. “Yes, Mother, an android.”

“‘Mother’ sounds so harsh! How about mama or mummy or mom?” She kept wringing her fingers together. “Anyway, anyway! Elio! He sounds so handsome. Is that who Marcos is talking to? What a handsome voice! Is he a Generation Six?”

You still hadn't sat down, though you used your hands to lean across the back of a chair. “Generation Seven. I'm testing him for Hyperion.”

“For Hyperon!” Mother couldn't fathom you doing more than grunt work at the marketing firm. She didn't know your position had become obsolete. “This is certainly a surprise. Sit down. How did that happen? You and Hyperion? Are you trying to make me look stupid?”

“I've been sitting all day. I'm good like this.” That wasn't a lie. You also just couldn't stand the idea of giving any relief to her anxious state. “It's my new job. Very coveted. I've been working closely with one of the researchers there, and he can't praise me enough. I'm looking after Elio for a year and then moving on to their next latest and greatest.”

“You?” She spat out a laugh. It calmed the trembling in her hands for a few seconds before she was back at it again. “Oh, my. Well. If that's the case, you certainly owe it to me for getting that job. My genetics. My smarts. You certainly didn't get it from your father.”

That lurching, angry ball in your throat was rising up fast. It was just there on the tongue making you gag, salivate, and begin to drool a bit from the corner of your lips. It tasted horrific and filled you with the most voracious need for venom.

“Who is my father?” you asked. “You could be wrong.”

Mother suddenly grew uncomfortable, flattening her gaze with the tabletop. Historically, she had always been this way when you asked about him, the infamously evasive ghost of your life. It was also the only thing that ever made her shut up.

“That doesn't matter.” She continued, “You’ve always had me and Marcos. That's what matters.”

“I've had Marcos.” The ball freed itself. “I just thought you should know, Generation Three models are being decommissioned. Marcos won't be receiving any more updates, and eventually, he'll just be a pile of fucking scrap. What're you gonna do then? You can't afford another android because you've sunk every penny you've ever saved into him—his upgrades, his maintenance, his clothes. It may take about ten years, and you'll probably be on your deathbed, but he's going to fall apart and eventually stop moving. You'll be just as alone as you were before he came along.”

Mother’s face turned shades, petrified. You wanted nothing more than to see her shrink into her clothes and disappear for good. It soothed you to think about Marcos’ end being inevitable, unchangeable, a fact. Some of the guilt was easier to bury that way.

“Wh-What are you saying to me, you awful child?!” She wailed with watery eyes, hands wrapped in the same colored strands of hair you had. “How could you?! That's not true! That’s not true! Do you know how hard it was to carry you for nine months?! I was so young and I was forced to give birth to you! Forced! Do you hear me—forced to be a mother to a child I never wanted! It was that or death. I never wanted a child because they turn on you and say things like this! You horrible, horrible child!”

Her shrieks stirred a ruckus from the kitchen where Marcos and Elio emerged from. Marcos ran to your mother, took her in his arms, and cradled her against his chest when she began to shed very real tears that bubbled at the corner of her eyes before falling, curving along her cheeks.

Elio came straight to you, hesitating to put his hands on your body, maybe noticing how viciously you glared at this wilted woman he'd yet to meet.

“Get the groceries. We're gone.” You stormed straight for the door, chest stuttering with heavy breaths you tried to calm because you knew what came next. Your throat ached, burned fiercely like something had snagged there and you needed to claw it out.

Once you reentered the chilly air submerged in all the dark and light of Retro City at night, it didn't matter that you were crying. They were hot tears that left behind cool traces. They were decades of disappointment, of secretly understanding a mother’s love would always be conditional, of being unwanted and wishing you hadn't been burdened with existing.

Elio came out minutes later, the door closing softly and locking after him. You heard the bags crinkle near you, drawing your eyes away from a blinking parking meter you'd zoned in to calm yourself down.

You said nothing.

“Let’s go home.” Elio hailed a cab idling nearby and opened the door for you. “I want to keep the meat fresh.”

Him and that stupid duck.

This cabbie looked back at you both once to get directions, and then only occasionally afterward, casting pitiable glances at your raw-looking face in the mirror. The GPS displayed on the car’s dashboard showed the apartment was thirty minutes away because of traffic, probably from a crash they were detouring; ordinarily, it only took twenty minutes.

When your pocket vibrated, you almost didn't check. Unsurprisingly, it was a message from Marcos, just a single one.

“I don't think you should come around for a while,” it read. You didn't respond. Nothing new. Some sort of falling out with your mother was routine. You couldn't understand why she thought it'd ever go differently.

However, this time wasn't like all the rest. This time, you’d said something unforgivable despite her doing the same, but yours was worse in her mind. You didn't mind the idea of her disappearing from your life. It was harder to handle the thought that you'd never see Marcos again before he ceased to function, though.

“What happened?” Elio asked, a weird departure from androids being programmed, traditionally, never to pry. “That woman was your mother, correct? What did you say to her?”

“Who cares?” You grunted, sniffing around the burn in sinuses again. “She's a crazy bitch. She's always been that way. I told her that Marcos would just turn into a scrap heap eventually. Was that wrong of me?”

“Well, perhaps that phrasing was inappropriate, yes.” Elio touched your forearm. “But there is no NDA in place from Hyperion. You are well within your rights to have told her. But, as I said, your phrasing—”

“I know, shut up—” You moved closer so you could lean against him. “I hate that woman. I hate my mother more than I ever hated anyone.”

Elio lifted an arm above you, giving you room to slide in as far as you wanted to go. He held you for the first time, repeating long, weighty strokes down your back, through his coat that you still wore. You were transported back to a moment in time steeped in cloudy nostalgia, blurred.

It was Marcos kneeling at your bedside, yellow overhead lights dimmed to nearly full darkness. The door was shut because otherwise a heap of cackling voices, Mother and her gossiping hens after too much wine, would spear in through the cracks and make you petulant. Marcos had already been trying to get you to sleep for over an hour.

“Sleep little one, sleep.” Marcos had said, voicebox in his throat straining with a quieter sound. “I know it must be difficult. You must be rested for school tomorrow.”

“They're too loud.” you whined, throwing your covers back with a great flourish, feet kicking them the rest of the way off before you huffed and turned to your side away from Marcos. “Make them shut up! Can't you make them shut up, Marcos?!”

He sighed, defeated as much as an android could be. No, he could not. It went against his programming to disobey his master—any human who made a demand of him. His order was to get the child to sleep, and that had yet to happen.

“Would you like me to read The Falcon and the Hare to you again?” It was your favorite bedtime story right now. Hearing fictional stories involving extinct animals seemed to be of odd fascination to you. “My tone of voice might make it—”

“No!” you fussed, thumping your feet once, twice, three times and going limp again. “Come up here until I fall asleep. Please?”

Marcos nodded. “Yes, little one.”

He had to keep one leg off the bed to even half fit on the mattress. You sat upright to fix the blankets so to cover yourself and part of Marcos’ one bent knee. His arm laid out on the bed, waiting for you to crawl into it until you were nestled into his side, sucking up what small warmth radiated from his fake body. Once you found a comfortable spot, curled up tightly much like a cat sunbathing in a single shaft of daylight, he began smoothing a hand down along your back, heavy enough to be felt through your thick comforter.

You listened to him hum a song that you liked, one that translated well to his chords and the vibrations in his throat.

He hummed. He petted your back. He hummed. He petted your back. He hummed…

“Do you truly hate your mother?” Elio’s voice was delicate just then, aware that you were away in some reverie he tried to gently lure you out of. The dream was over. That one silver glimmer of your childhood became far away, forgotten while the sounds of the city rushed back into the cab.

“Yes—I mean, I dunno.” You actually yawned, pushing one of your eyes with the heel of your hand. “I think I hate her. We've argued my entire life. We've never gotten along. Yeah, I hate her.”

Elio was holding you by the waist now. “Is that why you said what you did?”

“Said what?” You were a little too keen on his thumb swirling around the fat padding your hip bone.

“About Marcos being scrap…”

“Elio, seriously? Do you ever shut up?” It was tempting to put yourself on the opposite side of the seat, but you didn't want to give the cabbie any chance to eyeball him. “I—I don't know. She just gets me so mad. I used to be able to crush up those feelings because Marcos told me it wasn't healthy to act on them. But, then, I moved out, and I realized she was still the same, that she'd always stay the same. I stopped hiding it.”

You were so close to his face that you could see how long his eyelashes were and the shadows they cast on his cheeks.

You looked into his eyes. “I wanted to make her hurt as much as she hurt me.”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Midnight had come and gone before you finally gave up on trying to sleep. You spent the better part of an hour staring up at the high ceiling, imagining every rusting pipe you saw as immobile serpents stretched taut to make the interconnecting structure that sprawled across the entire loft. Swirls and shapes and blacker-than-black shadows danced in front of your eyes, twisted with the pipes, and made the usual knocking sounds within them, but nothing ever came for you.

Downstairs was a careful amount of liveliness and aromas as Elio put together his duck à l'orange that he promised you. You scarcely heard a sound from him shuffling about but more from the clanking pans, boiling pots, and unintelligible chatter you knew came from the television.

Maybe he was watching a rerun of Wendy Carmichael Can Cook again, maybe a segment from the news because he liked that equally as much.

And yet, as you made your way to the lower floor, mystified by the fact you were standing on your toes to disguise all sound during your descent, you saw that the television was set to an old crime show he watched with you on occasion.

Detective Georgina Reyes and her android sidekick, Regis (G5), were the undisputed heroes of Helcam City and solved every case that came their way with style, finesse, and plenty of moral and ethical dilemmas. The majority of the show was spent within Georgina's inner world and her near-obsessive lust over Regis, who was owned by the department chief.

Ratings for the show had climbed to an all-time high when Regis had gained a sense of self and the ability to defy his programming. For fewer than six episodes, it was complete bliss for fans of Georgina and Regis, but then the season five finale happened—

“Can't sleep?” Elio asked, effectively putting your heart in your asshole, sending your soul skyward. He must have gauged your sudden gray pallor and bulbous glare because he smiled apologetically from the bottom of the stairway. “I'm sorry. I didn't intend to scare you. Were you watching Regis and Reyes?”

“I—uh, no.” You sighed, taking slow steps to the bottom to ease your heartbeat eating away at your ribs. “I was thinking about the show ending. Have you watched it yet?”

“Of course,” he said. “It was a peculiar way for the story to end. In my opinion, it was incomplete. Very sudden. It's my understanding that there was an issue with how the government was being represented within the show, and a few of the writers were accused of conspiracy to defraud the government and subsequently arrested for it.”

“Seriously?” You scoffed, making it to ground level, and walked around Elio toward the kitchen where all the heavenly smells wrapped around you, enticing you to take a morsel. “It was the forced pregnancy plotline, right? Creepy stuff.”

“Indeed.”

Elio wouldn't let you have any of the duck à l’orange, saying it was meant for your dinner later on in the day, but he did steep you a hot mug of herbal tea (for sleep), the one that turned water pink, and offered to make you a light snack.

He went back to his tasks after you declined, satisfied well enough with the small swigs you took from your white mug. You spent more time sitting at the counter in silence, watching his back, hoping to gain the power to see through his shirt rather than actually taking interest in what he was doing.

Your eyelids fluttered and fell thinking about the car ride home: his arm around you, his thumb rubbing pacifying circles into your hip, how you'd been close enough to his face to believe you felt a breath leave his lips.

“Elio.”

“Yes?”

He had moved on to washing dishes. When he heard you behind him, he took a clean towel to his hands and quickly dried them before facing you. You guessed you probably had a strange expression right now, or at least, looked at him in a way you never had because the towel was cast aside, draped over the faucet, and his eyes flickered across your face.

“Your heart rate and body temperature have increased.” he said, giving into the pull of your hands after grabbing both sides of his face. You backed yourself into the countertop while still holding him, thumbs caressing the rise of his cheeks, bringing him down, down, down toward your face where you certainly felt heat blow across your mouth. “Your breathing has changed. I can hear your heartbeat. Don't be anxious. I won't hurt you.”

You weren't nervous.

You proved it by kissing him, full-bodied, slow, lingering. He gripped the edge of the countertop, bracing his weight against his hands to stifle some aggressive reaction, possibly, and returned the kiss with just as much fervor that you put into it.

His lips were every bit of what you imagined, what you wanted them to be. You had the urge to bite into them a little, to see if they could bleed the same way yours could when you chewed enough on loose skin. Their texture was slightly indented with cracks that gave friction to the moist smear across your mouth.

Although the sounds of the kitchen and ambient hum from the television in the next room stayed as they were, it was like the volume of everything had been set to mute, and only the breathy, wet pops of air and skin made it into your ears. You heard the delicate chatter of teeth inside your head when his mouth roamed the underside of your jaw, down your neck, to the rise of your clavicle, stopping only at where your neckline ended.

His hands had already made home under your clothes, first doing away with your shirt that he tossed over your shoulder onto one of the barstools. Next, he worked on the elastic waistband keeping your sweatpants on your hips. You flinched against his hands when they splayed across your ass, taking all he could in them while his lips continued a downward trajectory, traveling over your breastbone, along the curve of your navel, and then he stopped.

Elio had been on his knees for a while, stirring you so deeply that you had no doubt there'd be damp spots sitting inside your sweatpants, possibly even drying on the inside of your thighs by now. He helped you out of your pants one leg hole at a time while you used his broad shoulders to balance yourself. And soon enough, one of your thighs was hiked up in that same spot, his face hidden from you despite all the work he was doing to well up a hard knot in your abdomen.

You had to take a fistful of his hair and wrap it tight in your fingers, using your other arm to balance against the counter. He wouldn't let you fall, you knew that, but the unsteadiness of your legs grew, trembling violently, turning to lead like being buried under concrete or suctioned by water. He kissed and sucked and stroked you some more, pushing more into the spots that made you moan the loudest and fastest, fingers wandering you busily and lubricated with your own spend.

“Elio—Elio, let's move somewhere, please.” You shuddered out, trying to pull his hair, shove his face off of you. “Please.”

He grunted, surprising you by relinquishing to the pressure, and made his way back up the route he had taken down. “Where do you want to go?” he asked, lips sticking on your throat, rising higher to the protrusion of your chin. “The kitchen floor? The couch? The bed? We could probably manage in the bathtub as well, if that's what you'd enjoy.”

“I don't care.” You were only half-honest and miserable now with the sole focus of trying not to touch yourself to finish. “Just… somewhere, Elio.”

“As you wish.”

Elio hoisted you onto his hips, making sure you knew to squeeze him with your thighs before making his way around the kitchen to turn knobs and shut off the overhead bulbs. The new darkness was refreshing yet did nothing to tame that sweltering sensation between your legs. In fact, you thought you could burst from the anticipation. It was everything you could do not to hump him through his clothes, hands occupied in his tousled hair, lips together with bruising force.

Before long, your back was on couch cushions and the television was off so as to not ruin the moment. You saw dark behind your eyes while you kept them open, unfocused on the ceiling with the serpent pipes because his mouth was already back on you and helping you chase that high.

“You're almost there.” His lips smacked against your engorged skin, making your lashes flutter and eyes roll back. “You look so perfect. When you cum, I'll take my time cleaning you up. I can use my tongue. I can make you cum again—as many times as you'd like.”

His arms held your thighs wide open, giving him all the room he needed for those final, well-placed strokes that turned your moans into utterly drawn-out, lewd things that made you grateful that no one else lived in this side of the building. Your body wrenched against his continued ministrations, his lips and chin and fingers warm and glistening with your traces.

You had thought to worry, briefly, about something getting onto the cushions under your ass, but Elio had already thought it through and used the dish towel from earlier to catch anything awry.

It came in handy for his face.

“How do you feel?” he asked from inside one of your thighs, kissing his way all the way to the point of your knee. “Was it satisfactory?”

You didn't answer right away, especially not when he came forward on his arms to catch your lips, slowing things down so you could bask in that fuzzy, satiated afterglow—dopamine and oxytocin being that remarkable duo doing their damndest to reinforce how exquisite and ineffably breathtaking Elio was to you.

“Would you like a bath?” he asked against your jaw. “You can just lie back and relax. I'll clean you up.”

“No.” Spurred by newfound bravery, you trailed your fingertips between both bodies, first to loosen the tie on his sleep pants, plucking the strings hard so he felt it. Next thing, your hands slipped under his shirt. “I want you to actually fuck me. Put your cock in me.”

Elio jolted upright, using the tall back of the couch and armrest near your head to hold his body above you. Cold air seeped in all the places where he had been, dotting your skin in gooseflesh, hairs within those follicles standing on end. You were laid out below him, showing all your unobscured nudity and vulnerability, withering yourself just a little smaller under the intensity of his stare.

This was different from the grocery store, where he had needed a moment to amend for information he did not have. This was something else—flickers of conflict, struggle, restraint, and excitement were ablaze in his eyes, which shifted around within their sockets, giving you glimpses of pure gleaming white, which stood out in the inky dark all around.

“I—are you certain that's what you want?” he spoke at last, doing little to alleviate the way you felt he had seen your insides and bones. “It is late, I know you must be tired.”

“Are you…” You couldn't really explain the uneasiness gnawing at your gut, nor the thrill of wanting him inside of you regardless. Maybe he could fuck the feeling out of you, bring peace to your throbbing heartbeat and blood gushing to your head. “Elio, are you telling me no?”

“I cannot do such a thing.” he said right away, coming down from his high place to lay the weight of himself across you.

You felt his skin flush to your chest without a thin shirt to hide his shape and muscle that wasn't real, but this was so much more than touching every dissected mannequin in physiology class in school. They couldn't kiss your neck while the interwoven, complex network underneath stretched, elastic flesh contracted and relaxed against your palms.

“Would you believe me if I told you there are certain functions—programming—that I cannot override?” The waistband of his pants collected in a heap of fabric around his knees, freeing room for his cock in the open air. “I won't be able to let you go until I'm finished. I want you to understand that.”

That sounded hot, and you were tired of him stalling, so you told him you understood. “Very well.” He kissed you, guiding one of your hands low to his core where you could revel in the size of him.

He was hard in your grip with a good girth and length to him, a curve you'd come to recognize from toys collected over the past decade to hit the right spots. The skin over his cock was much a part of him as the rest on his body, hot, growing damp, and sticky the nearer you wandered to the head.

You had watched old pornography with Melby and the group a few times before from the days when it was just humans performing acts on each other. No one really liked it because it was so dramatized; everyone agreed that one of the actors needed to be an android for it to actually be sexy. You never told them that the moaning men with stuttering hips as they ejaculated was something you did like.

Elio leaned into your palm, the thumbprint starting to prune as you rubbed his tip. More warmth seeped out from it, wet and thick and perplexing and exhilarating because Hyperion made him so perfect, a better being than just an emulation of man.

His cock slid through your hand in short, quick bursts that eventually lubricated his entire shaft. He'd kept himself busy on your lips, tongue in your mouth, swiveling together the taste of you with saliva. It was the most inelegant he had been with you so far, yet you didn't think you'd be bothered if he did this more often.

“Fuck me.” You whined, finally apart from him. The swollen head of his cock made a moist path along your core where you massaged it against every sensitive spot that set your senses into a blazing frenzy. “Be as rough as you want. Hurt me a little.”

He finally took your hand away, rearranging your legs so one laid across the back of the couch, the other on his hip with a knee shoved under your ass for height.

“I will not hurt you.” Both your wrists were cuffed by his large hands, pinned down into the cushions by your head. “But, I cannot let you go. You must see it through until the end.”

“Fuck. Me.” you said forcefully, uncomprehending to the things he was telling you, uncaring what it all meant.

“Yes. Alright.”

Elio obeyed you as he was supposed to, cock sinking in with care, thrusts starting out shallow until the tip was withdrawn and then back inside again. The angle he had created for you made it easier to take his length. It took a little more time to acclimate to his girth and plenty of gentle encouragement from his voice landing right next to your ear, telling you to relax. It would improve in a few minutes, and he wouldn't let you go to sleep dissatisfied.

Indeed, minutes later, you were well beyond the worst of it and filling the void all around you with harsh, rapturous moans, which Elio enjoyed hearing. His lips lingered at your throat where most of your sounds resonated, fists still holding firm around your wrists, knuckles the same color as the rest of the dark but had actually bled pale.

The springs within the couch cried out, unused to this weight and ruthlessness, while the air stung with cracks of slapping skin timed with your moans. Elio didn't let you move from where he had you laid out, didn't let up on the speed and depth he reached despite how labored your breaths became, broken words eclipsed by panting and his tongue forcing them back down your throat where they stayed in submission.

It was still cold in the early mornings this spring, often leaving your apartment a little less comfortable than you'd like, but right now, you could've been convinced that he was fucking you on the ground in the flatlands and believed it. Your skin was slick with sweat, the mess between your bodies slippery and undoubtedly staining the couch underneath.

Just then, the weight on your wrists climbed higher to your hands. He threaded your fingers together at the same time his thrusts began to slow, hips rolling yours like a swaying ship amid languid seas.

The whole time he had been on top of you, edging you closer to another orgasm, he had hardly made a noise apart from whispering in your ear when you'd clench his cock too tight. Now, he was failing to keep quiet from your neck, trembling and grunting on your skin until, at last, one jarring thrust left him breathing out in relief.

He got you to your end shortly after, half-hard cock still throbbing and warm inside you, giving just enough of what you needed while his hand finished the rest with fast strokes. You winced. He didn't let off until your jaw hung slack, whimpering meagerly through the pleasure hampering thoughts and sensations other than pressure releasing from your groin, spend turning a patch of your couch dark.

“You did well.” Once he was soft, he tied his pants back around his waist and picked up the sodden dish towel to begin cleaning around your sorest areas. “Come with me. I'll start you a hot bath and make you a new cup of tea before bed.”

You didn't want to get up from that spot, declared yourself rooted there unless Elio helped you up, and thrust a hand high into the dark room.

He wore a princely smile, you assumed, as he leaned down to pick you up in his arms instead. Moved by such a gesture, you reached for his face with your angry wrists and hands to kiss him all the way to the bathroom.

None of this made it into your next report.

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Melby didn't like Elio.

This she had told you over text after you declined her incoming phone call so as to not arouse Researcher Kim’s ire in finding out you were completely distracted during his exorbitantly detailed analysis of your latest reports. Two had been sent in before midnight last Sunday, as usual, since he was rarely satisfied with what you revealed through them these days.

Less than an hour later, while cozied up in bed on your side, facing the chopping blades of an oscillating fan, just beginning to feel yourself teeter off that edge from dull, relaxed awareness into light sleep, your ringtone went off—it was Kim.

“What else have you committed to doing lately in terms of Elio's social advancement? The last thing I have here…” A refreshing, fast pause followed, accented by the sound of paper softly swishing as it was parsed. “He was brought to a movie theater on the twenty-fourth, Diosyn Park on the twenty-ninth, Henrietta's four times in the last week. That's not nearly enough. Who are you socializing him with? What have their reactions been? How has he reacted to them? You're not writing down exact times.”

Not once since you'd joined the video conference forty minutes ago did he check to see if you were listening to him, content with his nose being shoved down into a bundle of chemically smelling papers and glowing screens to corroborate previous work he had on file.

That made it easier for you to text back Melby, arguing with her in endless paragraphs too tiring for your thumbs to continuously scroll through that you didn't have time to meet up at Clamors for drinks with everyone.

“Should I tell Chima you hate us?” texted Melby.

Truthfully, you couldn't tell if it was meant as a threat or if she was just pettish after being refused. One of her worst qualities, never spoken aloud to her face lest she fumbled and blubbered all the way to Chima to snitch about it, was being horridly uncompromising to just about everything.

It made you anxious enough that your fingers started to ache with an urge, on the path toward curling back slithers of cuticle, gathering blood under the nails, itchy scabs that Elio constantly covered with neon bandaids so you wouldn't touch them.

Eventually, you found a new fixation with the seams of your knuckles and fitted the most unrefined part of your nails into them, digging up red that way until he had to cover those, too.

It took you ten minutes with fidgety thumbs to reply. “I don't hate anyone. You know me.”

Melby's was instantaneous. “What about me? Do you hate me now?”

Another one. “Now that you have that android?”

More. “We used to spend so much time together.”

Last one for good measure to effectively drill a gory black hole straight into your pounding, cowardly heart. In her eyes, anyway. “I haven't seen you in months!”

“He needs more direct interaction. I've decided that I'll make amends to the template you've been using up until now.” Researcher Kim was saying, not seeing you, not hearing you, assuming your loyalty to him and his cause was complete.

Ripples of drowsiness overcame you so powerfully that you left Melby on read, mind suddenly a vast, empty space and quiet for the first moment all day. Your hands rose to cradle your cheeks, propping your head above your elbows on the countertop because Kim's inflated droning had come to have that effect on you over time.

A human man with a face that nice shouldn't be allowed to talk so much. He should go back to moaning on couches in front of cameras and sweltering lights.

“Let me explain what I'm currently changing.” he said, hopelessly invested in whatever those alterations were just by the mechanical click-clack of fingertips soaring over a keyboard somewhere low and out of sight of his screen. “From here on out, I'm going to require that you gather between six to ten direct interactions. I want full disclosure of every conversation, transcribed or recorded. From my standpoint, recording would be the most effective method so I may make interpretations myself.”

You were thinking of what to ask Elio to make you for lunch. It was almost noon. You unmuted the call. “Am I allowed to just randomly record people talking like that? That seems…”

“Hyperion works closely with Retro City’s governing bodies, and by extension, so do you.” Kim kept typing as he spoke. “It isn't illegal because the information you're collecting is imperative to the Hyperion Project. Without it, we face the risk of progress slowing or diminishing. That cannot happen, and I cannot emphasize enough that your work as an auditor must come before other commitments.”

At long last, he pulled his face out of papers and other screens to look at yours. In a fashion unsuitable for him, he sighed in a fatigued way, back collapsing against his ergonomic chair, shoulders lopsided with how he perched his elbows on the armrests.

“Retro City has over three million inhabitants. You won't have any issues finding people for Elio to speak to.” he told you. “Six to ten for each report. That’s all.”

You were already back in your messages, backtracking your previous responses to Melby, asking her what time everyone was meeting at Clamors.

Right away, “Come at nine!”

And then, “I'll save you a seat.”

Finally, “Don't eat too much before getting here. It'll ruin the fun.”

“Fine.” Phone now face down on the counter, you returned Researcher Kim’s concentrated stare. “I'll do my best. Six to ten. Six to ten…”

That had done well to appease him, demonstrated through a satisfied smile, which pulled his lips just enough that the muscles in his right cheek twitched as though the motion was foreign to him. With how inexpressive he was most of the time, you weren't surprised, thinking it more humorous than anything else.

You struggled to find a smile of your own that wasn't strained, though.

“That reminds me—” He positioned himself forward, arms on his polished dark-red desk with a curious gleam in his black eyes. “None of your reports have instances of copulation mentioned. Have there been complications?”

You sat stiffly, not agape but definitely not composed, either. “Sorry? What was that?”

“Intercourse. Sex.” He simplified it for you, almost with a pitying crease forming between his brows. “You've completed every other area outlined in the template except that one. I have… refrained from questioning you until now because I do understand that, outside of a clinical setting, it can be construed as inappropriate to discuss.”

The only person you had divulged any details to was Melby. Even that had been brief and inexplicit because she had immediately changed the topic to something one of the kids Chima invited into the group had done that pissed her off.

“Why do you need to know?” It was a defensive question. “Is that something I really need to write about? It's sex. It's just sex.”

Researcher Kim made an indistinguishable sound behind steepled fingers. They hid away whatever shape his mouth was in at that moment, making the whole conversation terribly uncomfortable. It was odd how exposed you felt like his stare was reaching long, further than just the screen in front of him. He wasn't looking into you or through you but rather right at you—imagining you some other way, unclothing your body with drifting eyes and invisible hands.

You were equal parts embarrassed and repulsed by that line of thinking, allowing your mind to summon up his ghost hands to search you, feel you under all your layers, know you as intimately as Elio had as though part of some extension of himself.

“It is all outlined in the contract you signed.” Kim said, now with an edge that made you flinch on the barstool. “Androids are developed for convenience and pleasure. I have reports for one, not the other. If Elio, as the first of G7, is not performing exceptionally—if there are complications, if he is defective—that is something you must include within your reports. I don't suspect that to be the case, in this situation.”

His eyes suddenly caught onto something else, going beyond you, but you chose not to react by looking. “Your work as an auditor has been sufficient so far, but incomplete reports at this critical stage in Elio's testing are grounds for me to terminate your contract.”

You clenched your jaw until your teeth throbbed, your head going up and down like it was on a hinge attached to your neck.

“Personally, that's a hassle I'd rather not involve myself in.” Kim confessed in a straighter posture, smiling tensely. “Now, I'll ask you again: Have there been any complications with inter—”

“That's enough.” Elio reached across your shoulder for the tablet, pointer finger hovering over a red button on the screen. “Researcher Kim, it's time for lunch. Goodbye.”

He pushed the button, managing to catch a swift change in Kim's expression before the screen went black and reflected your shock back at you instead.

You watched him slide the tablet away to the opposite end of the counter space, unable to lift yourself out of this bizarre stupor just from how purely surreal what just happened was. And from the look of it, Researcher Kim hadn't anticipated that Elio was capable of doing something like that, either.

You just hoped it wouldn't cost you your contract.

“What have you been doing all this time?” you asked, tilting your head back to welcome his lips gliding atop yours, a peck, at first, which gradually grew deeper and greedier. With some effort, you pulled back. “Mm, c'mon, what were you doing?”

“On Wendy Carmichael Can Cook today, she said—”

A hiss of annoyance. “Oh, of course…”

“She said there was a list of excellent bistros around Retro City worth trying.” He wasn't pleading with you or anything, but he seemed just about as dedicated to this idea as he had been with the duck à l’orange a while back. “For lunch, I thought it'd be of interest to you to visit one. I've been researching ones I thought you would like based off of your dietary habits, allergies, and sensitivities. Radiant Bistro next to the Leviathan Archway near downtown might be a good option. Impressively diverse menu.”

You pretended to pinch lint off of his shirt and inspect it up close. “If you didn't want to cook, you could've just said that.”

“That's not it,” he assured you with a kiss to the back of your hand so that you understood he meant it. “Since my arrival here, your social presence has declined substantially, which will not fare well for your public profile. I do understand that it’s in relation to your work as an auditor, but—”

“Okay! Okay, I get it.” you said agreeably, hands raised, hoping it'd deflect anything else. “We’ll go. Let me just find a hat so the sun won't get on my face.”

“No problem.” He walked away and came back with an old unbranded brown one from somewhere in the most remote crevice of the apartment. “Will this suffice?”

You looked at it, amazed. “Yeah. Yup. Let's go.”

Elio had stopped carrying a coat with him once the evenings grew long, and the remnants of heat from the day floated into nighttime, trapping the city within a muggy gray haze that too closely resembled dewy fog in early spring. The difference was the heaviness and breathability of the air—one you could tolerate despite allergies; the other was deplorable and evoked memories of every single club you had drunk and danced in with Melby and Chima and the rest in the past years.

Outside, right now, sucking in the early-afternoon heat into your lungs after spending your morning in air conditioning, nose wrapped in earthy white wisps rising from a coffee mug, you wanted to turn back around and hide. Much to your dismay, Elio kept you on a short leash with a tight grip on your hand, probably expecting you to have a change of heart.

  “Would you like for me to recall the menu and read it aloud to you?” he offered, situating his hand so his fingers crossed through yours, palms flush together. “They have fourteen types of sandwiches—hot and cold. Five of those are chicken, and five are of different meat varieties: lamb, cow, veal, goat, and yak, all claimed to be bred and raised and slaughtered in their warehouses. The last four sandwiches are…”

You listened passively without much commitment, especially in the back of the cab where there was no escape from anything. The AC was broken. The cabbie kept wiping sweat off his brow and sipped warm water. With the windows down, the outside air ripped inside the vehicle, nearly stealing the old hat off your head.

Elio went on to list desserts, thumb gently rolling circles on your sticky skin as if meant to keep you soothed.

“As long as I remember to eat light…” you murmured, remembering, glumly to yourself.

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Clamors was inside a three-story building on the north end of Retro City, about a ten-minute taxi ride to Mother’s brick-stone house, thirty minutes from Henrietta’s, forty minutes from your apartment, and farthest removed from the slums where congregations of profile delinquents and the unwanted were most dense.

Here in this part of the city, you were an imposter among manicured foliage, men and women and androids arrayed in trendy designer silhouettes that were protruding, sharp, and agonizing; sharks and whales of big business puffed cigars in front panoramic views of the cityscape from the highest skyscrapers. They could look down at the street from their window and see you, an ant scuttling meaninglessly.

This wasn't a place where you belonged, a feeling that never changed over time, even years later after Chima recruited you into his group and every night was a suffocating blur of sweaty, faceless bodies, explosive music, stomping feet, raspy screams, and lightly-flavored chalk dissolving under your tongue. You roamed the sidewalks at two in the morning as everyone had been kicked out, but no one cared because Chima came from money, a rare case where two parents could be accounted for, and you'd all just be back inside the next evening.

You weren't sure when you had become disillusioned with it all—the drinks, the animal pills, which coalesced into saliva in your mouth, the noises, the gossip, the six ibuprofen to function behind a desk at work, the burnout of rinse and repeat, a conveyor belt that moved cyclically without a place to get off. To exit the ride meant to plunge head-first into abject terror, the unknowable, to become part of the yellow wallpaper that's never actually seen, to cease to be.

Being back in Clamors again after months away turned your heart against you, thrust the sound of its distress into your ears, dwarfing an animated conversation happening right at your circular table. You felt the music vibrate through your skin, make its way into your marrow, and rattle your entire skeleton.

Melby had a hand on your knee, blunt-tipped nails collecting sweat off your skin underneath them.

You couldn't really focus on that.

“So, this is Elio. He's hot.” Chima said without looking at you.

“Really hot!”

“So hot!”

“Did you hear? Shut up, stop talking! Did you hear? That slut got herself pregnant!” shouted Niva, a senior-most part of the circle behind you and Melby. She knew everything about everyone, though she wasn't supposed to keep tabs. “Apparently her baby daddy decided the pussy wasn't worth it anymore and ran!”

“I can't believe it. That'd mean someone was actually willing to sleep with her.” said Niquan Lamos, the fashionable one always gravitating toward pastels. “A man, at that. Disgusting.”

Everyone laughed, including you. Elio quietly observed it all, seated at your side, incapable of letting his polite smile slip with numerous prowling eyes on him.

“Have you fucked him yet?” Chima asked you without actually caring for a response.

“Oh, have you fucked him?”

“C'mon, don't hide it. How was it?”

“What was her name?” asked a newcomer in the group, fresh out of secondary school and not even twenty. He was a compact lad, both in size and from being squeezed between Chima and Niquan in the circular booth stretched in fuchsia leather, or at least, that's how it looked in your table’s corner of the club. “How come she isn't here anymore?”

First rule was: Never talk about things that could make the liquor go down harder. This was one of those things. Secondly, never ask questions about people who the group was no longer associated with. It just sounded ugly to acknowledge the rejects.

Tonight, however, was an exception because Elio's presence was an exciting change. They forgot how to behave.

“Hm, now that you mention it, I don't remember. How long has it been?” Chima said this absently, abysmally black eyes wholly captivated by the android. “Damn. Something like Mi-dan? Mi-an? Mi… Mi…”

“Her name was Mi-sun.” said a nobody from somewhere at the round table. It probably would've been easy to figure out who was talking if they were more important, but it took less effort to blame the music reverberating from the speakers mounted on the wall near their heads.

Melby’s hand traveled adventurously along your thigh, unmindful of how close she came to your crotch. You had a harder time ignoring that move and sipped busily from your jungle bird, holding it higher than your eyeline to admire its beautiful vermilion hue practically glowing against the strobe lights pulsing down from the ceiling.

“This is the first time I've seen you drink.” Elio was leaned into you, wise to the fact that you wouldn't hear him any other way. His lips nearly touched your ear, voice honeyed, caring, all for you. You were halfway through your second jungle bird. “Please don't overdo it. The adverse effects of overconsumption of alcohol will cause you great discomfort tom—”

“Thank you, Elio.” For just a moment, you wondered how irreversibly damaging it would be to just grab his hand and sprint out of there. You drank some more to weaken your resolve, add lead into your legs. “I'll be good if you be good.”

Elio nodded appreciatively.

“Why was Mi-sun kicked out?” again asked the new face from before, plain and boyish-looking, Chima's fresh catch. They just kept getting younger and the alcohol just kept tasting worse. You forced it all down, anyway. “Well? Well? Well?”

“She was talking crazy shit,” Melby piped up with a drawl, fingernail swirling around a dark purple bruise on your thigh. She pushed in hard enough to remind you that it was still sore. “Like, she was fine one week and then every single night after that she would nooooot shut up about some wild government conspiracy theories.”

“Oh, right.” Chima laughed while forcing everybody out of their seats so he could stand. “I remember now. Yeah, she went completely insane. I think she was talking about androids being used for population control or something. Weird. Hey, let's dance.”

“That was a year ago?” Niva wanted Chima to confirm. “A year, right?”

“Over a year now. Who cares?” Melby said, staying put beside you while the rest of the booth vacated. “She’ll just end up dead in the slums like all the rest. Uh, they do all die, right?”

“Who cares?” Chima echoed, nesting his shoulders high to his ears in a shrug before walking away. “Who has the animal crackers?”

“Sounds about right.” Niva was unconvinced, doubt lingering in her words until Chima came around to rummage her purse for pills. “Oh! Only take one, they're so expensive!”

Chima stuck three in his mouth. “Don’t kill the vibe.” He left without a glance back toward all the no-face, nameless nobodies willing to lick the underside of his shoes if it meant they'd be acknowledged and given features—eyes, lips, hair, an identity.

Niquan was satisfied with just one, offering a subtle wash of relief to Niva, who was just about depleted of her supply at that point and used the last of it for herself, tongue lapping at the inside of her plastic envelope.

You were almost finished with your jungle bird, contemplating a third even though you had entered the territory where one more could mean the difference between a happy buzz and splintering headaches tomorrow, just as Elio warned. The ice cubes had melted into a smooth watercolor appearance and turned from red to blue to green to purple to pink as the lights gushed down from above.

“I don't remember what she looks like.” you admitted to Melby who gazed into you, squeezing your thigh meaningfully. Again, you didn't pay attention. “Mi-sun, I mean. Were we friends? Did I ever drink with her? Have I ever slept over at her house?”

“No!” Melby snapped, affronted. “You're mistaking her for me. You guys never even had a conversation. You hated her guts. You thought she was a freak.”

You made a sound into the last of your drink, unsure whether she was lying to you or not. “Maybe. Maybe. Was I okay with her being kicked out?”

“Totally.” she said, casting a fleeting look of disdain toward Elio, lip curling at one side. “Chima only counted yours and mine and Niva’s votes since we've been here the longest.”

“That's…” You licked your lips and then the rim of your glass, secretly wishing your tongue would snag an uneven crack so you’d start to bleed. “Why don't I remember anything?”

Melby giggled. “Because you've been drinking, babe. It'll come back to you. What animal cracker do you want tonight? Giraffe or cat?”

“Hm?” You were elsewhere.

Until now, you had gone numb to your surroundings thanks to the licorice notes of black strap rum and bitter Campari and pucker of pineapple juice that made for a mostly pleasant experience in your throat.

You were present in that moment, venturing a look around at the dance floor crammed with bodies (human and android) moving in rhythm to the music, in time with each other to create a oneness, a synchronism so strange that it put the hairs on the back of the neck on end like spines.

Why did it all look so different now? So alien? As if you were seeing an image from your nightmares in real life.

Elio failed to convince you not to have another drink brought to the table after all, meanwhile Melby said she was disappointed you didn't get something stronger, claiming you used to do it all the time.

That's right. You did, didn't you?

“Hey.” Chima had emerged from the shapeless cluster of sweating, drunk, wriggling bodies a short while later. He reached into the booth, gathering a fistful of Elio's button-up shirt, and looked at you with a malicious gleam, possibly just your imagination, that just dared you to protest. “I know you don't mind if I borrow him for a while, right? Of course not. The rest of us are curious about him. We’ll be gentle.”

You would’ve believed someone if they said your tongue was cut out, because as much as you wanted to slice into him and spit poison in his wounds with your words, rub it raw, deep into the bone, nothing came up.

Not a breath nor a feeble sob.

Don't touch him. Nothing.

“So, you're chill with it?” Chima, beautiful Chima with deep-dark skin sparkling in rhinestones and spray-on glitter as though he were a vessel for all the stars in the cosmos, bared his straight, white teeth at you in the form of an affable grin.

Eat shit. Bitter silence.

He asked you the same thing again but grew bored and gave up on expecting you to do anything interesting. Elio was led away by the front of his shirt to the amalgamation of bodies like a sacrifice for the great black maw belonging to an abomination.

A few broke away from the core. Niva and Niquan were identifiable since you'd known them longer. The rest were unfamiliar to you—the no names and the tiny young man, the android bartender, the disc jockey, the bodies climbing over each other and melting back into a single incoherent mass.

They all looked exactly the same.

“I wanna dance too, let's go!” Melby struggled with one of your arms while attempting to scoot her way out of the booth, but the alcohol and broodiness made your body into a stump, sturdy and immobile, roots bursting through the bottoms of your shoes and the shiny floor.

She plopped back down. “Seriously? What's up with you?”

“It's too hot,” you reasoned, sticking a fingernail into the fresh glass in front of you, swishing the liquid around to make everything a more palatable blend. “If you want to dance, I'm not stopping you.”

“You're acting so weird.” Melby said, lost somewhere between frustration and astonishment while pulling a clear baggy from her pants pocket. A couple small pills moved inside, pink residue clouding the plastic. She plucked out one without looking. “Hey, open up. You're being a huge snoozefest. This'll loosen you up.”

When you felt her acrylic fingernails press against the corner of your lips, you gently pushed her hand back and nursed your drink some more. “No thanks.”

Melby’s tongue lashed against her gums, sharp and disapproving. “Why are you being such a fucking buzzkill tonight?” She traced your line of sight to Elio, to the others grabbing and fondling him, to his eyes looking right back at you. “We haven't seen each other in months. Now all you do is stare at that android.”

“It's my job, Melby.” You took the damp paper napkin from under your drink to dab your forehead at the sweat, trying to cool yourself. “I can't help that.”

“You can take one night away from your job.” she decided, taking hold of your lower mandible with a claw and crammed the chalky pink pill through lips and teeth into the pocket underneath your tongue. “You know the drill. Let it dissolve all the way. Stop making faces! It doesn't taste that bad.”

You tried to jerk your head away, but her grip was surprisingly solid.

“Melby! What the hell?!” It came out garbled around her fingers still resting in your mouth, filling the reservoir below your tongue with saliva.

Melby, blue-eyed and blonde with pale pink skin that always reddened in the electrifying, hot air in the club, was completely flushed from her face down to her chest. Her eyes had darkened upon withdrawing her two fingers, glossing your lips with spittle.

“I missed you.” she said, outlining the shape of your mouth until the skin started to tingle. “Did you miss me? I've been really lonely.”

Your least favorite part of taking an animal cracker was the aftertaste that was the equivalent of eating sidewalk chalk and rubbing alcohol with a whisper of strawberry wafting up into your nostrils, clinging to every permeable membrane in your mouth and making your cheeks tremble.

“I—yeah. Yeah, I missed you.” You tried to sink the lingering taste down your throat with a swish and swallow from the jungle bird. “I didn't know what I was getting into with this whole Hyperion gig. I feel like I'm constantly watching Elio. Twenty-four seven.”

Elio never lost track of you throughout the ordeal, his being unable to escape the hands on his body and fight against the programming in his brain meant exclusively for human satisfaction. There were moments where you saw each other clearly, empty windows between writhing bodies, and you were convinced he tried to convey a very human-like discomfort that you immediately pretended like you hadn't seen.

Interfering meant going against the group. There was nothing you could do about it except allow them to eviscerate Elio if that's what they wanted. You could only sit there, drowning in rum and pineapple and aperitif and demerara sugar and scorching strobe lights and music bashing your skull and Melby unfastening buttons on your pants, but for some reason, that didn't quite register as what it was to you.

“Are you coming home with me tonight?” Melby asked so sweetly that it made your heart flutter, or maybe that was the pill taking effect. “We always have fun together. I've really missed it. It isn't the same without you.”

“What—” You almost tipped the red cocktail while reaching over it for a water glass that no one had touched. You slugged half in one go. “Wait. What are you even saying? I gotta take care of Elio.”

“Oh my god,” she seethed, taking her hand out of your pants to wipe her fingers on the napkin you used earlier. “Just tell him to leave. He has to listen to you. He’ll be okay.”

Fuzz had started to collect in your head, filling the entire dome with a warm, soft feeling that spread like a rapidly-growing fungus down the brainstem, coiled around your spine, stuffed your jaws with cotton, sucked all the moisture from your throat, widened your chest with stuff, and ignited kindling that had been sitting in the bottom of your stomach.

Just now, the deafening tone of music had been reduced to a throbbing bass that jarred your bones and pulsed in your hands and feet. Your vision wasn't much different than it had been before, only now you seemed to move at lightning speed, people and shapes and lights all confused watercolor smears of you shifted too quickly.

“Can't.” You recalled Melby had said something. “Elio, first. Do you see him?”

“No.” she said, watching Chima hook his fingers through the belt loops on Elio’s pants, knocking their pelvises together in time with the music. “Come on, I'll call a cab and we can go home. We’ll have a good time away from everyone.”

You made a grab for the water glass again, throat the driest it had ever been. A mistimed gasp came out when the rim of the glass struck your teeth, missing your mouth almost completely. Luckily, only a little water got on your shirt, molding it to your chest like a cold second skin.

“God, that's good,” you moaned, draining the rest of it. “What are you even talking about? A good time?”

She eyed you uneasily. “What do you mean? What do you remember when you're with me?”

“Pfft,” you scoffed, stealing yet another water glass you managed to grapple with two hands so it'd stop swaying. “What do you mean, what do I mean? I hit the pillow and I'm out. Why?”

After a few long swigs of ice water, the dance floor was less a mangled disarray of smoke and neon colors, more definitive and jagged—the stage, the speakers, the turntable where the disc jockey played. Even the beastly blob of grinding, convulsing people started looking like people.

Melby had lost all the red in her face, eyes riveted to the half-empty jungle juice in front of you, perhaps counting the beads of condensation dripping from its tall form.

“You're usually really talkative. I think you're lying to me right now to get out of it.”

“Huh?” You were done with the second water, staring at her unfocused but suspicious. “Lying about what?”

“I—” Melby withered in her seat, distracted by something ahead that you couldn't see, a bejeweled nail wedged between her teeth. “No, nothing. Never mind.”

“Whatever,” you murmured. “I'm outta here.”

Melby didn't stop you from leaving behind money for your drinks before you stumbled away from the booth toward the dancefloor, evading bodies that came flying toward you with erratic, jerky movements not at all matching the pounding beat coming from the stage.

The floor was actually hundreds of individually tinted blocks of plexiglass with colored bulbs screwed in underneath.

During the day, Clamors kept it covered with a special protectant and tarp to maintain the integrity of the glass, but at night, it was illuminated like a nonsensical rainbow checkerboard. Each square took on a life of its own, flickering in unison with songs played throughout the night, warping into mandalas and spirals and disorienting waves that most people using animal crackers couldn’t stomach for long.

You were close to vomiting up the jungle birds and your meager lunch from Radiant Bistro that afternoon when you found Elio within the swarm of partiers that reeked of sour body odor and stale alcohol.

He stood amid it all with a stiff spine, the loveliness of his face covered by shadows and terrible bursts of light that heightened his vacuous stare into the faces of those touching him.

The only other time you had seen him so devoid of life was in the presence of Researcher Kim. Now, he looked in such a way at Chima, at Niva, at Niquan—the nameless and the boy were too scared of overstepping to have a part in it yet straggled nearby to feel like they meant something.

Elio saw you jostling through the crowd toward him, hardened amber regaining luminosity. You became the center of his world again with just a look, yet your world was entirely unthawed ice and serrated stalactites growing ever sharper, heavier, closer to piercing and crushing at a single point below them. The forest of brittle minerals in your mind needed just a single resounding event to loosen, to fall, to impale indiscriminately.

That moment finally happened as you approached Chima, his hand stroking Elio under every layer meant to keep him out. Your future was a far-off thing, light years away and completely untouchable, no matter how many times you were threatened with your profile, how you'd become nothing without your associations, how the entire world would cringe in disgust at your existence and leave you to rot.

You took Chima's hand out of Elio’s pants, hoping you had the strength in yours to twist his wrist so it hurt, wanting nothing more than to actually shatter the bone with just the pure hatred surging down into your grip. With the other hand, you drew it high behind your shoulder, muscles tense, bone popping from an unnatural angle, dense club air gushing between your fingers right before your palm released a thunderous crack against his cheek that shot up the length of your arm in stinging ripples.

“No, stop!” Elio tore you away too late, right after weakness reentered your body, and he was able to easily restrain you. “What have you done?”

The clique had rallied around Chima, steadied him and examined the mark on his cheek, which was already blowing up in size.

He stared at you with amazement that quickly contorted into pure incandescence. His face was the ugliest thing you had ever seen, eyes an uninviting, pitless, and hollow place. This, you thought, was what he truly looked like beneath the popularity, cosmetics, money, and illusion of drugs.

“Keep your hands to yourself!” you screamed.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He tried to lunge at you but was held back by Niva, Niquan, and various ghostly hands. “How dare you. How dare you touch me, you sad sack of shit! You ungrateful nobody! I can ruin you! I can make sure you get thrown into the slums and your fucking insides get ate out by all those filthy savages.”

“That's better than this.” You felt Elio tighten his arms around you, feet shuffling backward to try to separate you from this. Dancers were beginning to gather around the scene, both grossly fascinated and terrified because they'd never seen a fight between humans. “It's better than the stupid drugs. It's better than this club. It's better than all your shitty little followers. It’s better than you.”

To this, Chima stared wide-eyed and gave a derisive laugh. “You seriously hit me because I was touching the android? He's a fucking machine! What else is he useful for?!”

You were still being coaxed out of the gathering, Elio's lips whispering pacifying words into your ear that you didn't hear.

“Don't—Don’t talk about him like that.”

Chima’s visage relaxed into one you were used to seeing. A man who knew he had all the time and power in the world and that he could do anything with it. He swatted away all the helping hands and straightened his clothes.

“Not only are you fucking insane,” he said, smiling without remorse. “Now, you're also dead.”

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The decision to retch into a convenience store trash can happened because you couldn't bring yourself to do it in the neatly barbered bush you had been closer to at the time. You had separated the metal lid from the metal body so you could simply lean over and spew into it freely.

Smells emanating from inside—expedited food rottage from summer heat, curdled drinks, bagged-up dog shit, and God knows what else—did better to evacuate your stomach than the insane lighted floor in Clamors.

Most of what came up lacked the usual sourness, ran watery like a geyser of diluted red jungle bird with occasional chunks of undigested sandwich and probably everything from three days ago.

Elio wiped your face clean at every chance he got, those seldom moments where you could cough and catch your breath for just a few seconds before your stomach clenched and more climbed up your esophagus and exited your body. There wasn't much he could do apart from dab your skin and keep your clothes from the trajectory.

“Why?” Elio spoke sometime later once the waves of nausea had tapered to a degree where you could sit on a bench outside the convenience store and take a bottle of water he had ready for you. “Why did you do it?”

“Because—” you said, not bothering to finish after swigging and swishing and spitting the acrid taste that lingered on your tongue, between your teeth, and in the ridges of your gums. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get rid of it all. It stuck in your mouth like bitter tar. “Because.”

You went on to repeat the rinse and swish a few more times, ultimately tilting the bottle upside down to crush the cheap plastic in your fist so it gushed down on your head.

For a second, you imagined turning on a spigot to shock your scalp with cold water, flattening all your hair, pasting your clothes flush and translucent to your body like a second skin to peel away later.

The humid nighttime air was suddenly so much less oppressive than it had been. A subtle breeze had picked up throughout the course of the day, not doing much to tame the heat overall, but the fat pearls of water streaming down your back made you shiver. You counted all the drops that coalesced into shimmering beads on the tips of your hair, your eyelashes, and your nose and fell onto the pale gray cement underfoot.

Elio had already unbuttoned his shirt to the navel, just above where he had rebuckled his pants and tried to pull the rest of the fabric free.

“Oh, Elio. Don't.”

He pulled you into him despite your protest, swathing you from behind first with the shirt and then his arms as he held you against his chest. Fortunately, he had worn an airy undershirt so his body wasn't on display for anyone else, though there was no one around at this hour.

He soothed you with long strokes along your back. His touch amplified to a point where it hurt as much as it felt good. You knew what fingers he used more pressure with, where the heel of his hand touched you next. You could feel where he chose to linger and knead at knots under your skin, imagining the sensation similar to using a sharpened stone or ice pick

“I'm fucked.” you mumbled sullenly in his embrace, warmth dissipated as you had soaked his undershirt all the way through. “I'm so fucked.”

“It was unwise, yes,” he said in silken tones from atop your head, thin jaw pushed down into your wet hair, grinding and rotating when he'd speak. “I had you in my mind the entire time. I was prepared to let him do as he pleased if it meant preventing a confrontation—I failed. But, I hadn't expected you to hit him. None of the outcomes I calculated had that conclusion. I'm sorry.”

“No. I'm glad I did it.” You worried that you were being overconfident, too hopeful toward a future unraveling at your feet as you spoke. “I couldn’t stand how everyone was staring at you—touching you. Everything just felt so wrong, but, why? The only thing that was different was you being there, Elio. I saw you—you looked so uncomfortable. I was so hot. I think I was seeing things after taking the animal cracker. I just got so angry.”

Usually, Elio was the type to scavenge your history as thoroughly as he could, however minimal or inconsequential it all seemed to you at the time. It was a quintessential part of his programming as an android—of all androids—to want to dissect everything there was to know about their masters, knowing them better than their masters knew themselves.

You considered making it effortless for him, volunteering your past with animal crackers and how they used to not hurt at all. At one time, you could binge them for days without violent side effects that’d plague a normal person for weeks.

“There are no pharmacological benefits associated with their use,” was what you heard him say in your head, firm yet loving, melting into his sensual strokes tracing parallel along the length of your spine. “Prolonged use has been known to create perforations in the gastrointestinal tract, heart dysrhythmias…”

He didn't regurgitate that information at you. In fact, he said nothing at all. Besides the hand sweeping down your body steadily, lips and shapely nose burrowed in your limp seaweed-string hair, he didn't move at all. There was no stuttering heartbeat between you except your own. Even his breaths had gone still, chest straight down and unmoving.

Elio was a machine.

It was so easy to forget while wrapped up in daily mundanities. It wasn't so easy to forget in this moment where you wanted to crack him open, scoop out each precious piece of him with your bare hands, and hide yourself within his husk.

You were sick of the silence, so you pinched him hard under the arm, right next to the crease starting his shoulder. It made you feel better to do so, and he'd pay attention to you—

He hissed and reeled away from your touch, startling you out of his arms because you didn't know how else to react.

“Did you—Elio, did you feel that?” you asked incredulously, voice whittling into a self-conscious mumble once you realized the words leaving your mouth. They didn't stop. “Did that hurt you?”

The spot where you pinched was hard to see from the layer of his shirt sleeve, but his fingers rubbed there insistently like he were actually trying to alleviate pain.

“Once, during my early development, Researcher Kim had told me he wanted to close the gap between what people think separates androids and humans.” Elio explained, coming close again to touch you and dry your temples with his shirt on your back. “It's unlikely that what you perceive as pain and what I am programmed to perceive as pain are absolutely comparable, but there's some common ground.”

“I'm sorry, Elio. I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't know I could.” Your voice weakened to a whisper, throat clenched in shame as your skin grew hot. It was like you were still stuck in the throbbing, stiff air of the club and not in the spacious nighttime breeze.

He looked you in the face, almost-orange eyes flitting inside their orbital sockets trying to find something distant and unknown in your expression. You guessed he was assessing your sincerity—not for himself because he needed it, but to know how it took shape on you and bent your brows, molded your lips, dimpled your chin, deepened the lines.

Then he asked, "If I hadn't reacted—if my circuitry were less sensitive and I could feel nothing at all aside from your fingers on my skin, would you have done it again? Would you keep doing it?"

"What are you trying to say?”

"Globally, since the widespread distribution of androids, the occurrence of domestic and public disputes has been halved. I have been designed to be non-violent, as have all of my predecessors.” As if for effect, Elio took one of your hands and pushed your palm flat to his warm cheek. “I have no desire to hurt you, but I am also incapable of doing so.”

You couldn't wrench yourself from his grip, so that's how you remained, caressing his soft, smooth skin while your thumbpad skirted along the round bone below his eye.

This was more than you could handle right now. All of the illness and nausea that came with the burdensome summer heat, the animal cracker, every bit of liquid and food to enter your stomach, the memory of slapping Chima—it came back, crashing down like an avalanche carrying your regrets, fears, malaise.

“I'm not going to hit you.” You were gagging around saliva pooling into the front of your mouth. “Chima was different. He deserved it.”

“Perhaps,” Elio agreed, entwining fingers with the ones on his cheek. He kissed your open palm with great passion and some semblance of regret. “But, I wish you would have hit me instead. I have failed one of the most basic parts of programming by putting you and others in harm. You may now end up suffering greatly because of it.”

You did get sick again.

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Elio had persistently warded off Researcher Kim’s video calls for three days while you recovered upstairs beneath every comforter you owned, maximum air conditioning, and heavy curtains to shun out all natural light from ever reaching your bedside. Time came and went without peril or concept to you, seeming to evaporate into the air like nothing, much like how your steady, quiet breaths did the same. They simply came and went; inhale and exhale, no writhing white plumes drifted overhead to prove they belonged to you or that you were even alive. Not in the dead of summer.

  Five days total had passed before you could take the staircase down from the loft without Elio's assistance and eat or drink anything of substance that didn't end with it all being violently evacuated from your body.

Sleep remained elusive to you despite the sedatives and special hot tea recipes from online that Elio pushed down your throat. The migraines persisted even with prescription painkillers Melby had stolen for you forever ago and rough romps of sex that left you winded, glistening, and cold on the sheets when the oscillating fans blew air across your skin.

Whatever excuse Elio had fed to Researcher Kim over the days you were incapacitated worked because when you were finally back at the counter on a video call with him, he didn't ask you about it or chastise you much about the holes in your reports for that week.

“I see that Elio had been proving himself to be quite self-sufficient. I have here six separate occasions where he's ventured out on his own?” Kim looped a stylus through his fingers fluidly, concentrating on what little information he could glean from your submissions. “Henrietta's, mostly. I see he's had to visit the dry cleaners. General store. Pharmacy. He's also been completing the six to ten interactions by himself. Absolutely phenomenal!”

Your attention kept drifting away from Kim. It went to Elio, who placed a white mug down quietly next to you, the handle within reach of your fingers. Beyond the pale-gray wisps spiraling up into the air and dissipating among the snaking pipes sprawling the high ceiling, the liquid inside was pale yellow. Diluted green tea, maybe white tea, if you had to guess. They were among the few things you could stomach right now.

He offered you a fast smile, somewhat unlike himself, and leaned into your lips.

The sight went unnoticed by Kim, who was still captivated by the level of initiative and intelligence his creation displayed. Every word you managed to construct through sedative-induced delirium mesmerized him so thoroughly that he missed the groping hands under your shirt, the smothered moans, and the fact that you had exited view of the screen for fifteen minutes while being laid out on the couch and feasted on through an orgasm.

Wendy Carmichael Can Cook came on the television, a solid distraction for Elio. Today’s episode was a rerun featuring some sort of elevated mush dinner popular in the slums. With some canned foods capable of surviving nuclear fallout, herbs you were almost positive had gone extinct forty years ago, and spices so rare they were untouchable, Wendy concocted something truly groundbreaking to the audience’s eyes.

Elio looked only half-interested in the episode. Meanwhile, you went to the bathroom to clean yourself up and took three painkillers before sitting back down behind the counter. Researcher Kim had yet to lose the wind in his lungs, though now you weren't sure what he was talking about.

The tea was lukewarm and non-irritating just like you thought it'd be.

Your phone had survived the whole five days on a single charge as you had been too afraid to touch it, not because you were scared to see what was there but because you didn't want to know what was no longer there.

True to the fear, while holding a large breath you had sucked into your lungs, believing it to be the sturdiest barrier against whatever you'd discover, there was no one left in your phone log—except Melby.

The rest: Chima, Niva, Niquan, Marcos, Mother, and all the others who had once been listed there before like mock trophies to bolster your sense of worth, the swell of pride that came from knowing important people and integrating yourself into their lives to be something special, simply did not exist anymore.

You didn't have to search up your public profile to know that it was barren as well.

Once Chima went, everyone else went with him—both from the circle and those you'd networked throughout life. Even if it had been someone else, the end result would've stayed the same, exactly as it is now.

“What do you want? I'm not supposed to be talking to you.” Melby had answered her phone after six rings. The background seemed purposefully mute for your call. Perhaps she was just at home nursing the after-effects of things as well. “You there?”

Researcher Kim sieved through paperwork, now entranced by comparing Elio's earlier behaviors in the infancy of design to now. You lowered the volume to where his voice was a low hum, like mumbling through a wall you flattened yourself to.

“Let me guess, Chima told you that?” you said, sipping gingerly from your mug. “How much did he tell you? Was he actually honest, or did he just tell you I was fucking crazy?”

“You weren't acting right all night.” Melby countered in her surefooted drawl. “I don't understand what's happening to you, or why you've been acting so differently. You shouldn't have hit Chima.”

“He shouldn't have touched Elio.”

You could imagine her temper flaring, fair skin glowing pink in the face and chest as she kicked around the comforters on her bed. She strangled a sound in her throat that emanated through the phone as a low groan. Strands of her fried blonde hair scuffed together like pieces of straw when she scratched her head. It was unmistakable.

“What is going on with you?” she demanded, on the verge of tears, voice fading out in glimpses like she was moving away from the speaker. “Elio—he’s just an android. I know he's some radical new innovation, but he'll be saturating the market in six months like every other Hyperion android. There's always going to be more of him. Chima, though, he's actually human. You can just throw away an android.”

Emotions aside—Melby wasn't wrong.

The price of innovation always meant leaving something behind. Whether or not you wanted to see it, if Elio passed his testing period, he'd be decommissioned in a metal box down in the basement at Hyperion while copies and variations of him were added to the heaps of scrap in landfill once the next model came out.

Melby then said something else, “I don't think this is about the android.”

“Oh?” you said, passing a glance along toward the tablet to see that Kim still had his nose pointed down. “Maybe you're right. You know me so well.”

“Do you want to know what I think?” Melby asked.

You observed while Elio roamed the apartment, crouching to pick up the odds and ends that had gone neglected over the days you'd been bedridden, and he had stayed with you to keep you company. He tossed soiled clothes into a hamper, crumbled medication wrappers into the trash, and took your cold tea away to prepare more.

Inspired by your silence, mistaking it as timid submission, Melby went on. “I know you must think we're just being shepherded along, just doing whatever we're told because we don't know what else to do other than follow the loudest voice in the crowd.”

“You know me so well.”

“I know you blame everyone else for what happened at Clamors, but you put yourself in that situation.” Melby said, interjecting in a pitch higher when she heard you take in a breath, “Aht! Aht! I'm not done! No one else is gonna talk to you now, so I'll tell you what we're all thinking: Our circle? We're special. If we always smile and talk about the same things and agree about the same things, we stay together. We stay safe. You've never really wanted to do that, it was always noticeable. I think that's why you and Mi-sun always got along, because you two just did things to fit in, not because you actually cared or wanted to be a part of it.

“I didn't lose you, right? Chima always talked about ways of getting you out of the group. He didn't think you were trustworthy. I guess he was right because you slapped him. Do you know how weird is it for humans to do that nowadays? Apparently it used to be super common to beat up your wives and kids, but now people just do it to androids. But, it's better that way, right?”

“I don't know.” You really didn't.

Elio came back around with a steeping tea bag and a second mug half-full of something darker yellow, like urine. You took the handle to give it a whiff (it smelled homey and savory). Meanwhile, he took away the tablet and ended the video call without a word to Researcher Kim. The energy wasn't there for you to reprimand him nor to mess up your face in mostly feigned surprise.

“It's chicken broth.” He was able to say freely despite Melby blathering on. “Give it a try and let me know if it's too strong. We need to start reintroducing foods back into your diet.”

You drank from the tea mug instead, swiveling the barstool so your back faced him.

“I've thought about it some, and I think we're terrified of each other. Humans don't know how to truly trust one another anymore. That’s why we rely on androids for, like, everything.” Melby continued, “I think, and this is just my opinion, that we actually really miss each other. I think we want to touch and hug and love each other. There are still some people who do. There's a market out there for human-human porn, so it's not like it's unbelievable, but we basically treat each other like we're extinct. It's weird.

“I've done it before, y'know? I've kissed a man. I've kissed a woman. I've fucked both before. You and I—no, never mind. It doesn't count. I've thought about kissing you so many times. I wanted to do a lot more than just that, too.”

The corner seam of your thumbnail had started to bleed after you dug through old scabs and scar tissue built on top of it, your body’s valiant attempts to keep normalcy despite the mutilation that came back again and again. You watched brilliant carmine ooze from the wound, filling the crevices between your nail and skin, crawling upwards to your knuckle before Elio had stifled the area with a warm, damp rag.

Melby let out a long sigh. You envisioned she had just thrown aside a bunch of decorative cushions and flopped down in a chair, or had been pacing her bedroom and finally given up by throwing herself supine on the mattress.

“I'm going to miss you being there.” she declared. “I think—I think you're the closest I've ever come to truly loving someone. At least, I think that's what you'd call it.”

You held your thumb erect for Elio to wrap it in a neon-orange bandage with pink smiles. His lips pressed gently to the sore finger, making slow, wet work to the back of your hand and then the inside of your wrist to feel your pulse bounce against his mouth.

“I'm sorry.” you said at last, putting as much sentiment into those sparse words as you could. A part of you meant it genuinely as an apology for causing her trouble, for her unrealized dreams and lust, for the world you both suffered in and would never know anything else. “Melby, I have one last favor to ask of you.”

She hesitated, likely believing that doing more would get her expulsed from the circle. “Just one?”

“Just one.” You nodded at empty air. “I know either you or Niva have Mi-sun’s phone number. Can I have it?”

Again, Melby stalled, though this time you figured it was out of confusion. “That’s what you want? She might be dead somewhere in the slums, you know?”

“Not if she's pregnant.” you countered. “Niva seemed pretty convinced that night that she was alive and well after being knocked up.”

Melby sucked on her teeth, a moist, popping sound into the speaker. “Niva says a lot of stupid shit because she likes to hijack conversations. Fine. Whatever. I'll text it to you, but you only have one minute because then I'm blocking you for good.”

To this, your heart actually stirred and squeezed, tightening so much it stole your breath from your lungs. Your entire chest felt like it shriveled into itself three sizes smaller as though to accommodate you fitting into a ball within yourself. Dread had opened a chasm wide in your stomach. Everything inside that gory cavity was swallowed up, leaving it vacant and hollow.

This was what it was like to mourn, you considered. It wasn't the same thing you felt the night you cried in the streets after fighting with Mother and losing Marcos. It wasn't the same as the last five days being wrapped in agony, lamenting the loss of a group you'd given years of your life to appeasing.

It was knowing that once Melby was gone, you were lost in the dark, and there was no way out of it. People with delinquent profiles didn't get redeemed—Wendy Carmichael lied and had never lived a life in the slums, a truth Elio had been disappointed to learn—they died in anonymity and poverty.

A notification came through just then, showing an eight-digit number presumed to belong to Mi-sun. You copied it quickly, although now your fingers felt numb and the person writing them down couldn't possibly have been you—

“Alright. It's done,” Melby said calmly. “I have to go. Will you be okay? Do you think people actually die when they go to the slums? I don't want—”

“Goodbye, Melby.” You ended the call and threw your phone on the countertop, far from your eyes so you wouldn't know the exact moment the world ended.

“And, fuck you.”

Elio had the sense to give you plenty of space after the ordeal and stayed busy downstairs cleaning the apartment while you tossed and turned in bed, legs knotted up in the sheets because nothing helped get you comfortable. At some point, through the thick of your adrenaline and despair, the buzz in your brain softened, and you were able to sleep until Elio joined you some hours later.

It was after midnight, and darkness pervaded everywhere. Above you, the snake pipes on the high ceiling writhed together in their intricate web just like every night, and you wondered why the wall of darkness hanging over you seemed closer than it usually did. Meanwhile, Elio faced you from his side of the bed and laid gentle strokes to the top of your head.

“I’ve reached the conclusion that I am defective.” Elio said tonelessly, startling you into such wakefulness that you sat upright from the sheets. “You've lost your friends because of me, and now your profile has fallen into delinquency. The inclination to ostracize what deviates from adapted, accepted social behaviors aligns with common survival tactics. This is an explanation that I understand, but it doesn't... sit right.”

Putting the blame on Elio to feel better would've been easy, and he would take it with grace and lay decadent caresses on your body as proof you were right. But he was too virtuous, and you secretly wanted to keep the credit of being the reason why Chima looked ugly and seethed into his cocktails.

“It sort of hurts,” you admitted. “It's a dull ache inside my bones. It makes me feel like everything inside my chest is shriveling up like a prune. Being abandoned—feeling lonely—is like always being cold. Thinking of it now, I don't know if there was ever a time I didn't feel cold around them. How shitty is it that I feel a little relieved?"

“If that's the case—” Elio rose up from his side of the bed, nudged apart your legs and settled between them. Most of his weight was still on his arms next to your head. In the waning moonlight, shadows deepened the lines around his mouth when he smiled. “I'm glad to have played some part in that release.”

Your fingertips walked lightly across his cheeks, along the planes of his face, as though marveling at him all over for the first time again. His skin always was most beautiful bathed in warm light, but the soft, silvery veil filtering in through the windows gave him ethereal grace.

The calm air upstairs shifted as your bodies stirred on the mattress, sheets strewn to the floor along with pieces of clothing that left you bare to the gray air while Elio gathered the skin of your hips in his hands and sucked on you.

It didn't matter if you closed your eyes or studied the movement on the ceiling while he devoured, lapped away the sticky stuff that glistened out of you like the silk of a spider’s thread before it could stain the sheets, because it always ended with the same kaleidoscopic bursts of color, wanton cries, and him chasing after another orgasm and then another.

He'd ravish you until puffs of hot breath hurt, and the tip of his tongue delivering a single stroke was enough to make you flinch and whimper. Your legs felt fatigued and trembled violently throughout the continued ministrations until you needed to beg him to stop, dignifying the demand with a hard yank to the thick hair on his scalp.

“I'm not done just yet, give me a moment.” He told you the same thing tonight as he did every other time. The pain in his head subsided as he dove back between your legs and laid his tongue as a paddle against you, cleaning the cum for as long as it took for him to be satisfied.

He came up so you could have a taste of yourself in his kiss, tongues wrapped together while he fisted his cock stiff and lubricated himself with the fluid from the tip. You moaned against his mouth when two fingers pushed inside you and thrust with an effortless glide and instilled so much confidence in him that he slid in a third to the knuckle.

“Mm, Elio, fuck me.” you managed between wet, sloppy kisses and splintered breaths. Three fingers were a tighter fit and wider than he was, but the way he angled them up into you was mind-numbing, could've made your tongue wag out of your mouth while panting like a pheromone-crazed animal.

Elio’s lips went from your face to your neck, down along the slope to your shoulder before he removed his fingers and slathered that narrow space in your legs with spend.

“Of course.” He obeyed dutifully but turned you on your side and seated one of your legs high on his arm. “Let's try something different tonight.”

The bulbous head of his cock glistened as it dragged across your groin, tapping those sore spots that made you twitch involuntarily with anticipation and staggered breaths. Elio concentrated on your face throughout it all, memorizing both those subtle and large changes that showed him what you liked the most.

You'd never believed that androids could be sexually adventurous in the same way that humans could, and perhaps that was the case despite the kinds of positions Elio put you in if you were willing. He would be conscientious of your mood beforehand and then adjust accordingly from there.

Some nights, it didn't go further than mouth-fucking you until you orgasmed to exhaustion. Other nights, when you were more pliable and especially affectionate, he'd rut his hips into your ass until you cried and the sheets were beyond saving.

Now, Elio observed you closely as the curve of his cock sank into you, sinew in his stomach clenching once he started thrusting.

At the start, your sounds were soft, and the rhythm made with his hips was one you had no trouble riding. You closed your eyes and focused on how that tilt in his cock pressed up against your walls and stroked all the right parts. His controlled pace unraveled after a while, thrusts turned mindless and greedy as the sting of slapping skin seemed to resonate all around.

You had bunched bits of pillow and bedspread in your fingers and drooled out onto the fabric because you couldn't close your mouth long enough between moans and gasps and lewd mutterings to stop it. You begged him to fuck you harder, deeper, and tear you open if that’s what he wanted to do and would keep you in ecstacy.

Elio indulged your high as he was able, rolling you from your side to your stomach and mounted you again. He was able to touch you better this way, fondle the globes of your ass, the pouches of fat in your hips, stomach, and chest, all the while sucking dark bruises all along your spine and shoulders.

His mouth would sometimes linger next to your ears, wherein he imitated every bit of his human likeness and breathed on you. And then, he would poorly stifle moans that inspired you to think too deeply about the extent to which he could and could not feel.

“Look at me.” Elio felt your walls tighten around his cock and wanted to stare you in the face through your orgasm. He put you on your back, thighs hiked high on his sturdy chest, so those final thrusts plowed deep and stole your screams. You writhed under him, eyes rolled up, bloodshot and pupiless, muscles drawn so tight that it felt as good as it did awful.

A surge of warmth leaked out onto the sheets as Elio took his half-hard cock from your body and let it soften the rest of the way in cold air. His hand roamed you with delicate, healing touches meant to beg forgiveness for how much you'd ache later on, and his lips were tender and slow against yours.

You kissed him back distractedly, unable to think of anything else but the stickiness between your legs and how you'd chosen to never notice it until now.

“What's wrong?” he asked, still pressed up against your mouth. “Are you unsatisfied? My refractory period ends in a few minutes. I can do as much as you'd like until you feel fulfilled.”

“Mm-mn,” you hummed, “that's not it.”

He didn't stun when you snagged your phone from the bedside table and turned on the backlight. You pointed it down at cloudy white globs drying on your crotch, a sight that you thought was vaguely familiar to you somehow. It struck you then that it was like a scene from a pornography or vulgar sketches some kid in secondary school got suspended for drawing.

Still, it couldn't have been possible.

“What is that?” you asked with unacquainted timidity.

Elio grabbed a package of wipes left bedside and spaced your legs apart to clean the mess he had left on you. He took his time with long, intentional strokes to avoid your sensitive parts as best he could, soiling a good handful from the package before asking if you wanted a bath.

“Answer me first,” you said.

He rose from the bed with one more kiss and collected your clothes from the floor. They were draped nicely over his arm, whereas he stood there before you nude, enveloped by the moon’s blue luster.

At first glance, his smile seemed the same adoring kind that he always held for you, and yet it evoked some undeterminable sadness to well up in your chest and cling there.

“It’s the result of a body never truly being your own.”

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Mi-sun’s house wasn't far from your apartment, as you recalled. It took a bit of investigative work online to track down her address (via Elio), mainly because it had been well over a year since you'd last needed to know it and the phone number Melby had given you was disconnected, but once you had the coordinates plugged into your phone, it was just one begrudging trek through sultry summertime air to reach her front door.

When you had finally made it to that point, however, eyes leveled down at a dirty, faded doormat that had seen plenty of seasons and wintery salt, you weren't sure how to proceed.

There wasn't any real reason why you were standing there now, yet you felt that you needed to be there anyway. Maybe it could be called seeking solidarity with someone who was enduring the same inevitable ending you were, or maybe the curiosity about her state of being was what won out dominantly. You couldn't be sure of your own motivations—only that you were there, and you needed her to know you were.

After three solid knocks with your knuckles, you let your hand fall and waited by scuffing the soles of your shoes on the coarse mat underfoot. It still had some springiness to it as you scrubbed. The front door was old and brown, having lost its elegant lacquer long ago. You remembered Mi-sun had mentioned a few times before that she had wanted to make the door cute with white paint and a frilly outdoor wreath but could never get around to it.

You guessed she never did.

“Should we knock again?” Elio asked across your shoulder, the bulk of his frame casting a cooling shadow over your body. He had gone out to Henrietta's by himself the other day when you told him what you intended to do and bought supplies to make a cake and special plastic Tupperware meant to keep it from moving around.

The only explanation he had given you about an hour ago, after locking the apartment door and stepping out onto the sidewalk, hot enough in the midday sun to melt the bottoms of your shoes to the pavement while you walked, was that Mi-sun was an old friend, and it was a safe gift even for a pregnant woman.

You never found the courage to divulge just how involved you had been in her expulsion from Chima's circle, even though you knew it'd be impossible for him to think less of you from it.

A minute passed, and then so did two more before you realized that no one was coming to the door. While listening for movement—a television, a hissing stovetop, shuffling slippers on top of creaking floorboards, anything at all aside from stiff silence, you understood that it was unlikely anyone had lived there in quite a while.

“I don't know where else she could be.” you said, now back at Elio's side, where he flicked away tiny splinters of old wood and shiny glaze that peeled off your damp skin like cut-up stickers. He moved the visor above your brow gently, adjusting the position of it to better shield your eyes, but seemed more to just want the proximity than anything else.

The longer he fiddled with things—your hat, the flecks of things he missed on your ear, wrinkles in your t-shirt—the more apparent it was to you that he was contemplating something else. You were trying hard not to do anything that would spur him into making the next suggestion you knew was coming.

“There is one other place we haven't tried.” he said, switching from your shoulder to tucking pieces of hair securely behind your ear and dabbing sweat off your neck with a handful of napkins he had picked up at a convenience store while grabbing you water. “The likelihood of Mi-sun’s profile falling into delinquency and being able to maintain residence within the city is less than twenty percent. However—”

“I know.” You breathed out hot air and sucked it right back into your lungs. Maybe if you did that enough times it'd burn them, shrivel them up like prunes. “I know where she is. Let's wait until it cools down to go, though. I'll probably pass out if I have to see any of that right now.”

“Today on Loti Khan’s Food Tours of Retro City, she said that Asakawa on Fifteenth is a spot worth visiting during the summertime because of their cold noodle dishes. Hiyashi Chuka was what she suggested, I believe. I've already committed the menu to memory, and they have well over twenty different cold dishes and beverages. Their affordability isn't as stellar as Rainbow Bistro, but Loti says—”

Wendy Carmichael was now a disgraced name in your household after Elio had spent a few hours one afternoon researching the woman’s true life story. She had been born into the elite class with a mother sitting at the top of the food chain in Retro City’s governing body, attended culinary arts schools across the world yet never reached the acclaim she coveted until she made up the whole spiel about clawing her way out of the slums.

Crawling back from the slums once you were in them just wasn't feasible. Only the worst of the worst—thieves, profile delinquents, murderers, lepers, and unwanteds were kept there, like trash crowded and barred in a landfill. If you found yourself in the slums somehow, no one would help you out of them because that would mean tarnishing their own reputations.

You were as good as dead.

You were dead.

Elio had carried around a brown paper bag housing the cake for most of the day, never once setting it down. His features never flinched when the straw handles sank into parallel dents in his skin, long stripes that looked like they'd be sore to you, but he never conveyed any discomfort. He merely floated along wherever you went, undeterred by your dour, soulless wandering, which lasted until the sun emblazoned the sky in dim fire and pinks.

Those hues were leached by the close, calming gradient of greens, blues, and darker blues that reached so quickly you could follow the sprawl of them until they had ensnared the daylight. The sun sank somewhere betwixt skyscrapers, and the air still felt thick as the mucus in your throat but bearable.

That same sky followed you on the cab ride across the city. You imagined the darkening air rushing alongside the vehicle with you as if containing it on rails, guiding you closer towards the slums. Once the skyscrapers were gone, far away in a suffocating yellow haze from the sleepless city, and the residential zone had thinned out of the rest of its straggling homes, the scenery had taken on a complete shift.

Everything was bizarrely flat, barren, and beige for as far as the eye could see—vegetation was withered roots and barbed, inedible shrubbery that could've been pretty with some flowers or leaves. No trees could endure the fissured, parched earth nor the fine dust and sand skittering in the wind, leaving heavy layers where it lay once the breeze ebbed. Animals were long gone; the rumors of their bleached bones and skulls warped in a perpetual rictus of agony had been true because you saw many scattered throughout the landscape.

“Please confirm this is your stop,” said the cabbie, a female android from an older generation, maybe three or four. She stuck her hand outside the driver’s window when you tried to give her a tip. With her fish-eyed stare and leathery smile, she repeated, “No need. I have no use for money. Please confirm this is your stop.”

“This is correct.” Elio spoke for you before taking your fingers through his and guiding you away from the idling vehicle. The android cabbie found his reply sufficient and drove away without questioning why you were out here in the flatlands. All she knew how to do was drive and obey traffic laws.

“Do you know where we're going?” you asked because you only knew to have told the cabbie to drive as far as the outer perimeter of the city. Beyond this, your phone had no service, and there were no clearly designated signs to point you in the right direction.

The people in the slums were meant to be forgotten, hideous secrets hidden away, broomed off to the outskirts of civilization where they'd have to fend for themselves in an environment that had been deader than them for ages.

“Truthfully”—Elio stalled then and glanced around the endless expanse of wasteland—“Hyperion never included information about the slums in my programming. What I know is common knowledge and what I've accumulated in my time with you. I have never been able to locate specific coordinates to where the slums are hidden.”

You frowned. “Should we turn around before we get lost, then?”

Elio told you no and raised the hand clasped with yours, pushing one finger erect at a faint glow somewhere in the distance, no more than a ten—or fifteen-minute walk. You were almost convinced you could see the silhouettes of shoddy, leaning structures, but there was no way to be certain unless you got closer.

“Let's go.”

Chasing the remnants of the dusk to light your way across the starved, fractured terrain, those sparse shapes you had seen minutes before grew into multitudes. Soon, you were among clusters of disheveled, crude homes organized in long rows, some stacked with tiers like they were meant to replicate separate floors for more space.

Most of these houses didn't come with windows or doors to keep out strangers but thick decorative curtains that'd shun the beating sun, stave off the worst of winter frost, and deflect billows of sharp sand from dirtying their things indoors.

The paths between rows of homes were well-worn and brightly illuminated with anything they could use—lanterns, stuttering neon signage, solar panels, and even fire rings brutally hammered and dented into shape. Shadows from the fire lurched erratically against crooked metallic walls. Some homes with grimy windows caught a weak gleam off the flames.

It was almost fully dark, and people still moved with purpose as though they could compete with the suit-and-ties stomping their soles on the pavement in the city. Their hands were busy doing something—carrying, brooming, cooking, flourishing during a great retelling, clapping, hiding smiles.

These savages, delinquents, fraudsters, thieves, murderers, and diseased swine never once regarded you or Elio with any modicum of intrigue. You had believed at some point you'd be shrinking under a crowd of wicked stares, pulled down into some inescapable abyss by necrotic or leprous hands trying to steal the clothes from your body or use your skin to tarp piles of scrap.

Only one man had stopped along the path, dressed in dusty clothes that were otherwise decently kept; he was thin but not malnourished and hollow in the face. He told you that the aimless way you and Elio had been walking gave away that you were new to the slums because there was always something needing done and not enough hours in a day to do them.

“Mi-sun?” The man was thinking aloud, stirring up dust as he shuffled his feet around. You had given him the name and a description, which you hoped had been specific enough to avoid approaching people at random. “Yeah. That pregnant girl… she was here for a while. She's long gone now.”

“Long black hair, blunt bangs. Black eyes. Really translucent skin? Super skinny?” As unhelpful as your details were, it was all you had to give him to keep the mental acrobatics going. There was always a slim chance he could be misremembering her. “Are you sure she's no longer here in the slums? Where'd she go? What happened to her?”

Eventually, the thin man led Elio and you to a tiny house—more of a shack—meant to accommodate a sole body and some odds and ends. He held a heavy curtain back for the pair of you to enter, encouraging you to settle down on a sandy rug, which looked to have at one time been bright red.

“I don't have much to give, but here's a little water. To have made it here, you would've had to walk. We all had to.” he said, pulling out his finest cuppery and pouring from the spout of a broken electric kettle. “That girl was a profile delinquent, to my understanding. Almost all of us here are. I used to own a printing business on the north side about fifteen years ago. I upset the wrong people and here I am. What's your story?”

You spun the cup with your fingers, trying not to put your eyes down to scrutinize any particles floating around inside. Elio wasn't given a cup because the man had immediately deduced that he was an android.

“I…” You still didn't drink, but the back of your throat felt scratchy and your tongue like some dry slab of meat shoved into your mouth. “I pissed off the wrong people.”

“Ah.” The man gave an anguished smile, showing he understood you very well. There was a low table between you, repurposed from something else and sanded down to a smooth finish. “For a while, I helped look after Mi-sun. Like you, I had been the first person to greet her when she arrived. She didn't act like everyone else; she was dazed, but she was angry.

“I fed her, gave her water, and gave her a sleeping bag. We have to make due with less than bare minimum most days, but we make it work. We all look out for each other. The community really pitched in when we realized she was pregnant.”

Elio kept a watchful eye on your hands, the fingers aching to peel back ribbons of flesh.

“That shouldn't have been possible.” you said. “Mi-sun had an android. She was never involved with any men—not that I could ever recall. She just doesn't give me the impression of someone who'd change her ways like that.”

The man sipped his sandy water, wiping off clear pebbles that had clung to his facial hair. “When you find yourself exiled here, you learn fast that things are never what they seem. You didn't ask a question, but you gave yourself an answer.”

“What?” It was more noise than a word.

“Daichi, I believe, was her android. Shortly before she showed up, she said that Hyperion had come to forcibly reclaim it. That must've been a difficult reality for her to face—knowing everything was being taken away from her, forced into a pregnancy, and having to fend for herself afterwards.”

This time, you lifted a hand to stop him from falling down another tangent. He obeyed, voice whittled to silence that was immediately unsettled by loud water slurping.

It wasn't that you weren't following what he was saying. You were many things: a fool, a sheep, a coward, a liar, maybe even a true scoundrel at heart, but stupid wasn't among that inexhaustible list. You just needed a moment to collect the nuggets he had thrown down for you to pick up.

Guilt peaked the ranks of everything else you felt right then. A word you'd never use to describe yourself was malicious, but in the end, it had been the malice of someone else and your inability to see apart from the rest that condemned Mi-sun to this suffering.

You played as much a part in taking away Mi-sun's life as Chima had in actually enforcing it. Unlike Chima, never one to balk or cower regardless of how truly cruel his decisions were and committed to them like gospel, you simply sat in his afterimage and did whatever he said. Half of the time, you were blitzed out of your mind; the other you spent wishing you had never known them at all.

It had been so easy to vote Mi-sun out of the group. Completely painless. You just didn't look at her when you raised your hand to pass judgment. Melby had expressed her delight by squeezing your thigh, whereas Mi-sun held her composure and shoulders straight back, but her face contorted with every indication of betrayal and agony.

You thought about how many animal crackers you had that night.

“What happened to her?” Both your hands had been restrained by Elio’s at that point. Large, comforting, and warm in contrast to all the ice that seemed to thicken your blood, stiffen your heart, and freeze your bones. “Where is she now?”

The man must've been suspecting something because his face looked long to you now, weighed down by this life and your feeble state.

“I—I can't be absolutely positive, but I do believe she is dead.” he told you grievously, beady brown eyes not unseeing to the way Elio groped your fingers to keep them still. “She didn't want to be pregnant. It was something she talked about for weeks before leaving. She knew what Hyperion and the government were doing and said she didn't want to be a part of it. On the last night before she left, I had to wrestle a knife out of her hands because she was trying to cut open her stomach to kill the baby.”

You couldn't swallow past the sharp granules of sand and dryness in your throat anymore. You had to slug back the cup of grainy water until the feeling subsided, shove the worst of the dread and shame and guilt into your bowels.

“After that, she was gone.” He took a drink as well, exchanging looks from you to Elio. “A couple of us tried tying her up to get her to calm down and do something about the cut on her stomach, but she got the knife, stabbed one of the younger guys and got away. We haven't seen her since, but a search party did come back to say they saw blood leading back to the city.”

“Oh my god…” you groaned, forcing Elio to recoil when you slapped his hands away—intentional and hard. You stuck yours in your hair, yanking at the roots until your scalp screamed and burned. “Is there any chance she could've survived? Any at all?”

The rail-thin man swirled what little remained of his water in the cup, studying the pale sediment floating within. “It's too hard to say. It's unlikely, my friend. The police wouldn't have gunned her down if they saw she was pregnant, but they would've seen the cut. And that counts as attempted murder. If she's still alive, it's only to give birth, after that…”

“Execution,” you finished.

He nodded and said nothing else, eyes downcast as though lost in the grain of the wood table.

After that, you left the man in his sad little shack to explore the slums more. Elio came along shortly after, saying he had presented the man with the cake as a reward for his hospitality and apologized if it no longer looked appetizing.

The man thanked him before returning to his grief for many things, perhaps.

“I don't want to be here anymore, Elio.” you said, failing to avoid hearing a gaggle of giggling women gossiping together. They were dressed clumsily and in trends almost a decade old, but they had glowy eyes and cavernous lines worn into their faces from laughter and joy where they could find it.

Old men played some made-up board game together, gathering at least half a dozen spectators to see who'd win. Their brows were heavy with contemplation and stress of worthy competition. The other bodies tried making bets with pieces of scrap and metal coils and nearly blown bulbs for lighting.

Music came from all around, lyrical in the same way it was discordant because they weren't playing the same songs nor singing the same things. Their voices were robust and resilient, unwilling to be trudged over by sand nor heat nor oppressors who were incapable of understanding the human spirit was pliant and could bend with the wind, stand with the seasons, and could fracture yet never break.

You couldn't make sense of what any of them were singing, the noise too unharmonious, but you could feel the power in their songs pulse through you, ricocheting in your mind for long after you'd escaped proximity to them.

There were no lepers. There were the sick and unfortunate, but they were not diseased. They did not believe that their tilted houses were tombs, that their unquaint lives were an endless spiral of torment, or that the food they could find and produce was unworthy of reverence.

The people of the slums lived a hard, thankless life, but they had each other. They banded together to weld sheets of metal into four walls and a roof for the new faces who came to them. Your woes would become their woes, and they would feed you, cloth you, wash you, bandage your wounds, and call you their most beloved.

Together, they ate their meals from what they could scavenge out there. They retold the same grandiose tales of heroes and valor and androids that Marcos had told you at bedtime as a child. Their cultures were all cherished and expressed in the food they shared and clothes they managed to sew together by hand and slow machines.

You could ask your neighbor for a tablespoon of sugar and four would come to you with curiosity and offer their arthritic hands and knobby backs for whatever was needed.

Here, you could see humanity clearly for the first time in your life and felt burdened knowing it. Your heart weighed like an anvil behind your ribs. It hurt and lurched behind its enclosure because it too wanted to get away from what it now knew.

“A lie.” you choked, forcefully shoving Elio's hands away from you once again when he tried to embrace you. “It was all a lie. Everything was a lie! Where are they?! Where are all the lepers and people leaking pus from their face?! Where are the murderers? Where are the savages? Where are all these awful fucking people I was told were here? Where are they?”

Elio's expression took on something completely unforeseen—pity. Their lives were fine and routine while yours crumbled around you. The terror you had been force-fed your whole life was all false. There was civilization beyond a profile with red overlay, more waiting on the other side that the sleepless city wanted to conceal.

“There are no androids here.” Elio mentioned, deeming that adequate enough time had passed for you to regain your bearings. He took you in his arms and kissed the crown of your head, burying his lips deep in your hair. “We were never meant to become substitutes for your love. We were never meant to go this far and act as replacements for humanity because we simply cannot feel what another human does. That is something Hyperion will never be able to achieve. Humanity needs humanity, not machines.”

You sank into his warmth, arms wound his back, and said from his chest, “But, I love you. Don't leave me. I don't want Hyperion to take you away.”

Elio, your beautiful sun, leaned down into your face and kissed the highest parts of your cheeks and the wetness around your eyes before settling on your lips. Slow and lingering, you chose to believe it meant he was sealing away your plea and that he'd always be there to swathe you in his arms.

“Let's stay for a little longer,” he said once apart from the kiss. “I’d like to see the side of humanity that no one else does.”

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Less than a week had passed since your hard slog through the slums and back to Retro City. Although you had only been gone from your inner-city apartment for mere hours, possibly five or six at most, upon walking back inside after Elio and wincing against the fluorescent bulbs overhead, you thought you were looking at something entirely foreign.

The simple pleasures that you had become accustomed to throughout your life: plumbing, central air that turned the hot sweat on the back of your neck into cold droplets slithering beneath your clothes, the worn out mattress upstairs, technology, an android who'd done almost everything for you for the better part of a year—it all seemed so novel, so excessive. A treat for a rat in a box before testing to see how it'd respond when it was all taken from its enclosure.

So, when Elio woke you up one morning, early enough that the light streaming in through your windows already felt warm on the bed sheets, and the thin air looked itself to have a golden hue, you couldn't say you felt any rouse of surprise or fear when he handed over a red letter—an eviction correspondence.

Sooner or later, you knew you'd meet with one, though the progress of everything hadn't been as immediate as you had been led to believe it would be. A month had come by and stayed for several slow breakfasts, lunches, dinners, mindless strolls, and countless passionate entanglements before deciding to leave on an indignant note. With the red notice, you were expected to vacate the premises within days, whether you had intentions for your belongings or not.

Things stayed tumultuous from there on out, yet you couldn't find it within yourself to react to any of it, even in the instance when Researcher Kim rang you for an impromptu meeting that you anticipated meant no good.

“Effective immediately, Elio will be seized and returned to Hyperion in relation to the recent change in public profile status.” It was too formal and rigid a tone even for him. Clearly, his superiors had demanded this because you doubted the profile change was much a concern to him on a personal level. “Your contract is hereby null and void, and your association with Hyperion is obsolete. Any attempt to thwart repossession of Hyperion property will be penalized legally.”

Throughout it all, Elio swept the floor with leisurely strokes as though the reach of Researcher Kim’s voice ended at your ears alone. He moved onto laundry, taking great care to iron out the wrinkles in your favorite shirts and make the folds in the arm seams crisp and symmetrical.

“Is that really all you wanted to say?” you asked, palm capped overtop a mug of tea Elio had set down for you a while ago. The steam now rose weakly and moistened your skin, a particularly gross feeling, but it kept you alert. “I thought that Elio was your project, and you called the shots on him.”

Researcher Kim was out of sorts and worn. His posture was crumbled, and his clothes were in complete disarray like he hadn't bothered to change out of them in days. His under eyes were translucent, pulling out all the purples and blue veins under his skin. The man looked like he had hardly slept in weeks.

“You don't understand what you've done, have you? Not only may you end up costing me my position, but you've ruined my entire lifetime of work!” Kim leaned in close to the screen, sounding more and less himself now.

You were wary of the glint in his eyes. “What do you mean? Elio's just—”

“No!” he shouted and slumped back into his ergonomic chair. His head slanted over, almost coming in contact with the peak of his shoulder like it was too heavy for his neck to hold. “You don't get it. You don't get it! Because your profile turned, this entire year—everything you’ve reported, everything I've accomplished, Elio's entire testing period is invalid. Hyperion executives consider him defective. The Generation Seven android has failed! Look at what you've done!”

A sudden wild flapping of thousands of butterflies lifted your stomach up and then plunged it down into a void. Kim had successfully chiseled away the inexpressive mask you had worn up until that point, seeming satisfied that he could stipple your face in a cold sweat.

“Wait, no. That can't be right.” you protested, wrestling your own hands to keep them off of the tablet in front of you. “My profile turned, but the work I've done has been honest. Elio is a success! You know that! You've seen every step of his progress for almost a year.”

Researcher Kim threw his hands up wildly, truly not himself with all of these gestures. “None of that matters. None of it. My life's work is a failure. I thought we had an agreement to help one another, but I was mistaken.”

“You don't understand!” you said, pounding the countertop with sharp claps of your hands. “It wasn't on purpose. I wasn't trying to…”

“Hyperion will have Elio destroyed, and progress will be hindered. Do you know how long, how many decades this could set us back? This could be devastating to humanity, but I don't think you're capable of understanding that. Just like the rest, you're not able to see the big picture at large, the mechanisms at work keeping our society moving forward. You can only see the straight line ahead of you and wearing blinders so you don't have to know the rest.

“We've kept this world running for sixty years. You need to understand how utterly fucking frustrating it is that one person has the potential to undo decades of work!”

Researcher Kim’s words weren't unjustified to you because he was a scientist, and you had always been a nobody in the grand scheme of things. But, right now, the venom he spat sounded vindictive, a man sucking on wounds you had inflicted rather than the opinion of the whole of Hyperion.

If you hadn't been staring directly at him this entire time, you would’ve thought he was frothing and drooling at the mouth like some animal.

A stilted quiet filled the gaps in conversation, both of you uncertain of what would be said next. If he was reacting in any professional capacity, the call would've been disconnected by now. That was the main giveaway that let you know this wasn't just about what Hyperion wanted.

But the truth of it was that you didn't care what Hyperion wanted or him.

At the end of your life as you knew it, before being thrown away into the landfill with every other unwanted human, you were piecing together the whole history of the world and how it had gotten to this point. It had become this way through relentless men like Researcher Kim who mostly operated on their own moral compass, ones that could never quite point north and spun on that wheel as they saw fit.

“Enough of the powerplay, Kim.” you ordered, chest opening toward the ceiling with a deep, bracing breath. “What is the real purpose of Hyperion? Why does it actually exist?”

Kim, perhaps re-evaluating you as less of a pawn in this scheme and more of an infant intellectual about to breach the narrow canal into enlightenment, stacked his spine high and pressed his fingertips together. He studied you with some caution, head shifting from left to right, just slightly off-center from his hands as though judging whether you were worth divulging precious intel to.

But, like you, you expected he realized it didn't matter what he'd tell you, however coveted it might've been by Hyperion.

Kim, ultimately, worked for himself and for Hyperion only when he felt it served him well.

“When I hired you, I didn’t do it because I thought you were stupid.” It seemed he felt the need to clarify this for you, unsmiling but with an eager lilt in his tone. “I hired you because of your potential. I took a chance on you, and while it had, indeed, ended in my peril, you've surprised me so many times throughout the year that I started keeping a record of you as well.

“Human beings do one of two things in the consistent presence of androids, they either regress or they progress. Most of your peers will regress because that’s how society has been modeled to be. The difficult tasks, the mundane, all the things that ask of us to consider the complexity of the world around us and think critically have been left to androids. How well do you think a machine can understand the theory of life after death and the mysticism of religion? The concept of soulmates? Cultural superstitions and children's nighttime fears? It's about as you expect. They can give you an answer without truly understanding. Androids, I dare say, only have an extremely limited understanding of moral culpability. Humans are much more flexible with it these days because it suits them best.

“So.” Kim sighed, hands resting on the dark red desk he sat behind. “You can imagine how interesting it was when we started noticing a trend with auditors—changes in them. A renaissance, an evocation of deep wondering and wariness towards the workings of the world around them. We can only guess the reason that this happens is because part of humanity still doubts the intentions of androids, and that's been bred onward through the generations. You ask an android a question, they give an answer, you doubt that answer, and then you start to doubt everything around you. It's all hypothetical, but it makes sense.

“It doesn't happen with the majority of the population, though. And it isn't encouraged. Enlightenment threatens the status quo, and those who disturb the status quo are a disservice to the governing bodies and Hyperion. Do you understand?”

Your gaze turned cold. “Are the other auditors there in the slums, too? Once they've been used up and started to catch wind of this messed up shit?”

Researcher Kim flicked his fingers toward the top of the screen, doing that instead of shrugging. “Who knows? What happens to them once a testing period has concluded is none of my business. Presumably so, that's what I would hope for them because that's the kindest outcome.”

“Was I…” You licked your lips and felt the shallow cracks in them. “I was going to end up in the slums no matter what happened, wasn't I?”

He frowned. “No. If things had gone differently, I was going to vouch for you. I wanted to keep you as my assistant.” He was quiet for a beat, looking straight at you in that discomforting way that you couldn't shake. “I’ve grown fond of you, you know? How could I not with everything I've learned about you over the course of a year. I can't forgive you for what you've done to the Hyperion Project, to my life's work, but I can't just let you disappear like the rest.”

Something ugly started to grip in the back of your throat. Fear? Disgust? An inkling?

“What do you mean?” you ventured.

“I've read through each report you've sent me in the past year so many times. It was mostly out of necessity for Hyperion, of course, but the ones that I found myself… fixated on rereading time and time again were of yours and Elio's sexual endeavors. I wasn't lying when I said they were a contract-based requirement, mind you, but I will admit that some of the questions were altered somewhat.” he said, suddenly smiling in a self-satisfied sort of manner that made your skin itch. “I realized I never answered your question fully, by the way. I can get ahead of myself sometimes, as you know. But, do I really need to explain what Hyperion's purpose is?”

You were on the edge of your seat, ready to take flight off it at any second. It's just how the entire change of trajectory made you feel. Humanity had spent too much time in the past arguing animal-like, instinctual reactions for this not to be real.

In that moment, you were living proof of a prey noticing a predator in broad daylight.

  “Fine.” He kept smiling around the taut creases in his skin. The muscles there twitched as if the effort were unfamiliar. “Hyperion is a repopulation aid. It's quite sad, really. It started out with such great potential to drive society forward, but humanity and greed have always gone hand-in-hand. So, it became a race of mass production into a race that the governing bodies now had their hands in. The order was to rectify the critical birth decline worldwide. Androids became less like tools, looked less like machines, and more like humans—like lovers who couldn't say no to any demand.

“Androids are vessels for insemination. What else do you want me to tell you?”

Researcher Kim's explanation had weakened you, made your legs shaky and light like a scarecrow’s stuffed with straw. You couldn't rely on them to carry your weight away from this awful conversation, the hideous sight of him, because there'd be nowhere for you to run to while the information perforated your brain and crawled inside and feasted there.

“Elio…” You didn't even know what you wanted to say. Everything got stuck behind the notch in your throat. None of it would assuage that wretched ache in your gut, the precursor of vomit and disgust and unhinged terror.

“Of course.” Kim said, without needing to tell you what he was confirming. He was perfectly composed still, perhaps even shining with pride like some well-hidden, nuanced detail had finally been figured out.

He leaned toward the screen, smile turning salacious and voice low and grating.

“My only regret is that I couldn't be there to do it myself.” He brightened at the way your face wrenched and fastened in fear, seeming to think it was a reward after conducting an experiment on another project. “But, there's still time, isn't there? I must retrieve Elio myself to shut him down. If you listen to what I ask, perhaps I can get you pardoned and your profile reinstated.”

“No. That’s not what I want.” you said.

“It doesn't matter what you want,” he rebuffed, speaking with such confidence that you almost believed it. “The moment your profile fell into delinquency, you ceased to be. You've fallen through the cracks, and no one is going to help you. You're less than an android.”

The fine hairs all over your body bristled. “Don't compare me to a machine! You don't get to decide things for me!”

“I can save you, you damn fool!” Kim gaped incredulously. “I can restore your life and give you more than you've ever had. I can give you influential associations. I'll take care of you. I'll keep you as my assistant, and you get to live a life among the elite.”

He was lying.

No one ever made it out of the slums once they were in it. That wasn't an assumption, it was a simple grim reality.

In this world, only humans could lie because androids were incapable of betraying their programming to do so. Otherwise, Elio probably would've lied about many things or had never said certain things at all to spare you discomfort.

Humans, on the other hand, could lie to maliciously deceive and serve themselves a better hand. They could lie their way into a false mirror image, something that looks like them but never really existed and could never truly be. They could lie their way into trust to fulfill their own desires, and once that had been sufficiently quenched, they could go on lying elsewhere.

“I'll be there for you soon.” Researcher Kim tried his best at a soothing smile, treating it as though the sight of it would persuade your trust of him. “Please have Elio on standby. I would like for this not to be more difficult than it needs to be.”

Just then, the air flickered lightly by your ear as Elio reached past your shoulder and picked up the tablet. His expression was inscrutable, the same sort you'd grown used to seeing whenever Researcher Kim appeared on the screen.

“I won't be returning to Hyperion.” he said with solemn, firm words that held a certain weight of finality behind them.

Those lovely, velvety tones were still there but could not reassure you of some unknowable dread rising up somewhere deep inside your mind. A sensation so equally intimate and profound prickled against your scalp, seeking a way out that you thought you'd do anything to make it stop.

“What are you saying, Elio?” Kim grunted. “Defective or not, you hold precious data for Hyperion. It will be used to create something better than you, incorruptible and pure. You should be honored.”

“These memories are mine.”

That was the last you saw of Researcher Kim’s face before the tablet smashed to pieces on the floor. Elio had thrown it against the kitchen cabinets only once but hard enough to split the screen into a web of hundreds of sprawling fragments. Shards of plastic hardcover skittered across the hardwood floor, lost under heavy furniture.

His face had softened completely when he turned to you and guided you out of your chair into his arms. You felt him in your hair, lips on your forehead, down against your lashes, lower to the roundest part of your cheeks, and finally on your mouth in a kiss imbued with so much love, cherishment, and anguish.

You were at home within his embrace, swathed in the warmth of his body and the ardor of his kiss. But this felt excruciating and desperate, like a plea to take all of him that you could in that very moment because he feared that he would be taken away and you left behind to whatever nebulous future.

So, you let him seat himself as deep inside of you as he could go while still fully clothed. He had pushed around some fabric so you could be skin-to-skin where it mattered, where it was hottest to be, where the muscles contracted and relaxed together as a reminder you were both there in that moment—breathing, moaning, feeling everything there was to be felt.

He finished outside your body without you needing to say it. Although, while he groaned into your neck and bore his teeth into the curve of it, hips buckling forward as spend jetted down your thigh, all you could think about was how many times Kim had been there instead.

“I want you to destroy me.” Elio said.

All of the breath left your lungs and shrunk them to rotted fruit size. You were still vulnerable before him, exposed to the room and damp with sweat from the midday heat despite air conditioning. Worriment filled the space between his brows when he saw you aghast, and he quickly cleaned you off with a rag before helping you with your pants.

“Is this a shitty attempt at a joke?” you asked. He pressed his lips to yours and told you it wasn't. “No. Absolutely not. You're as fucking nuts as your creator. You're fucking stupid.”

“You must—”

“I won't! I won't do it!”

“I'm asking you to save me.”

“Get away!”

Elio had tracked you across the apartment multiple times over, pleading his case with skewed logic you pretended not to hear. For once, your ears filling with fluff while the resounding drum of your heartbeat pounded in your skull was a fortunate event to occur. It eclipsed his voice and hurt so much that you could focus on the pain crushing your chest.

However, once you were trapped between the wall and his body with nowhere to hide, the brief reprieve behind your fitful heart faded, as did the strength of your resolve.

“I—I don't understand.” You had trouble swallowing down the saliva and sobs. “Why are you asking me to do that? I can't do that to you, Elio. I can't hurt you. I love you.”

“I know.” He didn't hold you, though he had to win against his own reflexes not to do so. His knuckles were ghastly-looking and pronounced peaks; anything within that vise would've been crushed. “Today, one way or another, I will be destroyed. Hyperion deemed me a failure and therefore there is nothing else left ahead for me. My chip will be removed and my body ripped apart and melted down and I will be forgotten and never have existed in the first place.

“You will be the proof that I was ever here. And, should anyone be allowed to destroy me, it makes the most sense for it to be you.”

His lips left imprints in your skin that felt important to savor, etched through your bones into the very cluster of cells that made up your wholeness so that he could be immortalized.

“There’s an excerpt from Hiroshi Nagoya’s novel Gone Are the Youth that left a strong impression on me. It said, ‘Humans destroy everything they love—but, still, they must love wholly, and they must destroy completely. From ruin and ash and settled dust, humanity rebuilds all it has ever destroyed because their love lingers in memories, in rubble, blood, decay, and burnt air.’” He recited the details to remind you that he was a machine but kissed your face in a way only an earnest lover was able to.

You didn't know what any of that was supposed to mean to you, nor at what point he had managed to read a book like that without you noticing. A part of you took offense at both the passage and the fact Elio had committed it to memory as if he had expected to utilize it at some uncertain interval in the future all along.

Had he been thinking this way since the beginning? Had you failed Elio even in the capacity for him to come forward to speak of his doubts to you? Perhaps, like his programming dictated that he couldn't lie nor deny what he was designed to do, he was also incapable of speaking any full truth if it could've been construed as heresy.

Was there a single aspect of himself which he could control of his own free will?

Such a thought was unabating and grew a knob of dread in your chest. It started out small and localized, a sharp throb somewhere near your heart—and then it sprouted roots like a seed, long fingers piercing through red-purple muscle and fibrous tendon, reaching deep into your bone. The dread weaved as one with your veins and arteries, sprawling the innumerable pathways that held your shape even beneath the gory components inside of you.

Suddenly, the dread pulsated, and all you could think through the agony was that there could be no other way for Elio—a machine who had been created in the image of man to do the bidding of humanity with a tranquil smile, whether that meant cooking dinner and holding you in your sleep, or dispersing the genes of his God and the only being he was capable of despising.

“I seem to only be able to make you cry, but they're still so beautiful to see. The variability of humanity is much more complex than what I had been led to believe from Hyperion.” Elio had returned from the kitchen before you realized he had left your side. With one hand, he laid familiar, warm strokes along your face in a pattern he memorized because it made your scalp buzz pleasantly. With the other hand, he pushed the smooth handle of a chef’s knife into your palm and closed your fingers and his around it.

Your impulse had been to throw it away immediately upon seeing it when you looked down. He knew you would, so he kept his fingers tight over your fist, keeping the blade low at your side despite the sweat turning your grip slick and the fine point of the steel inches from his hollow abdomen.

Just then, you finally felt the tears that Elio had said you'd been crying but never noticed. That was something you'd come to hate about yourself and everyone else—how little they noticed the blatant lies fluffed over their eyes like wool, yet they could see every grievance in others and stuffed their ears with cotton if it meant things would stay exactly the same for themselves.

Safe and known. Unchallenged. Unafraid.

“Do you wish you could cry?” you asked him for some reason, just a little hopeful for some vague thing you couldn’t discern. Maybe some secret desire to be human?

He shook his head.

“I've never wished to cry, or to be human, but what I wish for now more than anything else is for your memory to belong to me and me alone.” Elio said, forehead bowing low and resting with great weight on your own. You closed your eyes and listened to his honeyed words, which felt like the protection and care of cashmere, suddenly unmindful to the knife in your grasp. “Stored away in my mainframe are memories from thousands of my predecessors. I remember people I've never met, people who have long since expired, and they feel like what I imagine a distant relative might. I feel as though I've mourned thousands of people individually. While I cannot erase them, I can erase you.

“I know how many women liked their tea in the evenings, I know how many men enjoyed their cocktails and hard liquor and brand of shaving cream. One person made it a secret to put alcohol in their coffee before work and thought it was clever. Someone else wanted to win local office through bribery, and as androids, we have no choice but to obey. I know these things from people I've never met, and so does Hyperion. Those androids were destroyed, but their memories live on through me.”

  Elio rolled the crests of your knuckles around his hand, lifting yours and the knife to the base of his neck. The arm connecting the hand and knife next to his skin wasn't yours. It couldn't have been when it felt so numb.

“I won't let Hyperion steal the one thing from me that I can say is truly mine. And those are my memories, my precious data stored in the chip in my brain. They'll have to take me apart to retrieve it, and by the time they find my body, the chip will already be destroyed.” He was slow to loosen his fingers and let them fall away, meanwhile, yours stayed in place.

He had dimmed the overhead lights in the living room earlier in the day, so you bathed in gentle yellow-orange that resembled the last of sunset being leached by silver-blue nightfall. From the corner of your eye came a subdued, gentle glint of the blade—polished to a bright shine, reflecting the corner of Elio's strong jaw.

“So, cut off my head.” he begged, vibrations low and strained within his voice box. “It’s almost like solace to me, I think. Until the very moment you rip out the chip from my brain, I'll recall the smells you like to cover yourself in, your favorite meals, how you described petrichor, and the hiss of falling snow. I'll remember, until my circuitry is severed and quits, what making love to you felt like, and how beautiful you always looked during it.”

Your fingers twitched around the handle as you pressed the knife against his skin, meeting the first start of resistance and your only chance to take it all back.

“I’ve never been real,” Elio reminded you and pushed himself into the blade, sinking it through layers of something that snapped like elastic on the steel, reverberating down the handle and up into your hand. “My skin is synthetic, and my insides are wires and machinery. I'm not real. The world outside your door is.”

Lightheadedness swirled all around you and made your limbs feel like they were leaden with anchors yet weightless, as though drifting through the cosmos in a bubble. The tears had stopped even though you felt you could scream at any second and never stop again, and the acidulous intermix of vomit and saliva grappled along the walls of your throat and burned out your nose.

You couldn’t make your hand stop.

You couldn't shout at him to get away.

And then, you saw Elio's eyes glow warmly of amber with flecks of gold. They looked back at you differently than they had when you first met outside of Researcher Kim’s office. Before, he had greeted you kindly, with the familiarity of someone who had already loved you a long time. Now, he had the look of a man who was calm and eternal in his love.

“I was never meant for this world, but I'm glad to have been a part of yours.” Elio winced against the knife halfway into his neck, an oily black substance from within making the glide deeper and deeper an effortless thing.

He smiled resplendently. “I love you.”

“I know.” you said.

The chef's knife severed all imitations of human gore—the neat network of wires and advanced circuitry masked as arteries and veins and tendon and muscle—clear through his throat until the blade blunted against spine and could no longer cut. The black grease spurted from his body like a wellhead, too thin and dark to replicate blood, but it was enough like it in that moment as you put your hands inside the opening you created to wrench apart his spine.

Elio laid motionless on the floor, perhaps still coherent to some degree, still feeling the pain you were ravaging upon him when you took the knife back up to repeatedly hack into the other side of his neck. Already lubricated from before, you butchered the gorgeous flesh and insides you pretended to be red and purple and blue and watched the black grease turn into crimson.

Once his head had been detached from the rest of him, fingers writhing and bending together like the upturned legs of a dying spider, you were able to rip out the jagged part of his spine and reach through the cavernous hole into his skull, turning the spongy matter of his brain to mush as you clawed through the gunk for his chip.

And, when you finally found it, the tiniest component of him—you smashed it into millions of fragments on the floor and then to fine dust that meddled with the black grease soaking through your clothes. You kept going until a small crater formed where the chip had once been and filled with the liquid.

There was nothing left of Elio now.

The headless body lying before you on the ground, preserved in the rigor of agony, was not Elio and never had been. You knew this even while relishing the weight of his head cradled in your arms, the softness of his hair against your cheek and mourned the loss of everything he had been.

Time had become meaningless; fifteen minutes could have passed or fifteen days, and you wouldn't have cared nor have noticed it while in the throes of your own death from starvation.

You sat there on the living room floor, held up by the wall with a dark trail smeared down to you, and looked nowhere but straight ahead. Nothing was there for you to see—not the furniture nor the discarded, oily knife or the carcass of a machine. Still, you held the head tenderly, close to your chest, and never once thought to peer into its eyes.

Distantly, somewhere as close as your front door or as far as across the city, you heard knuckles hammering urgently against metal. You didn't move off the ground or let go of the disfigured shape against you but did reach for the broken brainstem with the single snag at the end.

From the entranceway, the door opened, and someone's confident strides inside left a resounding echo all around.

“I’ve come to retrieve you!” But which of you was he talking about?

“Where are you?”

Here, you thought and wielded the brainstem in a bloodless grip and finally stood up with the flattened head.

I'm right here.

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a/n: initially, this story was only supposed to be around idk 20-25k, but by the time I got to the scene with Mother, I realized that probably wasn't going to happen bc I needed to let the scenes I was writing take up space and unravel naturally. I felt like I wasn't going to be able to articulate everything I needed to to tell a compelling storyline without throwing the word count to the wind.

one critique I received from a good writing friend of mine was that the relationship between mi-sun and mc was nebulous, and would've benefited from more time. interestingly, I had an entirely different scene planned where mc actually did visit mi-sun at home and had to confront their past actions. mc's encounter in the slums was also totally different. in hindsight, I wish I had stuck with that original idea bc I feel like it would've really helped complete the world I tried to create. make the events of the story more meaningful.

in the future, if I decide to get this story published as a short novel, I'd probably rewrite the second half to accommodate for that missing scene. I think it'd extend the word count by several thousands of words as well.

I'd like to do a sequel to this, probably placed 10-20 years in the future where the mc of that story is a scientist hired for hyperion and comes across an android hellbent on destroying the company. maybe even a spinoff where I write a couple of short stories from regis & reyes where "you" take the role of reyes and solve crimes with your android sidekick, regis.

that's all I have to say. here's a quick q&a for questions I've been asked in the past:

what happens to mc? are they okay? no, but exactly what happens to the mc is entirely up to your own imagination. I will not elaborate on it, nor give you a "canonical" answer.

can you do a sequel? little side snippets? elio and mc's story has been told to the best of my current abilities. there is no room for a sequel for them, but as I've said, I'd like to make another story based on a different mc and android. the little snippets are also a no. little snippets based on other scenarios in the same world tho, yes.

what inspired the story? at the time of writing, anti-abortion laws became increasingly stringent in the US (where I reside), so this was partially me lashing out about that. additionally, I knew I wanted to do some sort of dystopian android x reader story with a heavy focus on stripped autonomy, so that was my time and chance to do it. at its core, it's heavily a cautionary tale.

did elio actually love mc? this is also up to interpretation. elio is a machine. he had zero real "human" components to him. I want people to remember this. elio is meant to blur those lines between what people think a machine is capable of vs how terrifyingly close to humanness technology can bring things like AI/robots. I withhold my own personal opinion on this bc it doesn't matter. what matters is what you believe in the end.

if you have anything you'd like to discuss, questions you'd like to ask: please send them my way!! thank you so much for reading!

I hope you'll consider reblogging + interacting with this post!!?💕💕💕